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Our Little Hungarian Cousin 


THE 

Little Cousin Series 

(trade mark) 

Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in 
tint. Cloth, i 2 mo, with decorative cover, 
per volume, 6o cents 

LIST OF TITLES 
By Mary Hazelton Wade 


(unless othei 

Our Little African Cousin 
Our Little Alaskan Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

Our Little Arabian Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Armenian Cousin 
Our Little Australian Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

Our Little Brazilian Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

Our Little Brown Cousin 
Our Little Canadian Cousin 

By Elizabeth R. MacDonald 

Our Little Chinese Cousin 

By Isaac Taylor Headland 

Our Little Cuban Cousin 
Our Little Dutch Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Egyptian Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little English Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 
Our Little Eskimo Cousin 
Our Little French Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little German Cousin 
Our Little Greek Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

L. C. PAGE 

New England Building, 


ise indicated) 

Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 
Our Little Hindu Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 
Our Little Hungarian Cousin 
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 
Our Little Indian Cousin 
Our Little Irish Cousin 
Our Little Italian Cousin 
Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 
Our Little Korean Cousin 

By H. Lee M. Pike 
Our Little Mexican Cousin 

By Edward C. Butler 
Our Little Norwegian Cousin 
Our Little Panama Cousin 

By H. Lee M. Pike 
Our Little Persian Cousin 

By E. C. Shedd 
Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 
Our Little Scotch Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 
Our Little Siamese Cousin 
Our Little Spanish Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 
Our Little Swedish Cousin 

By Claire M. Coburn 
Our Little Swiss Cousin 
Our Little Turkish Cousin 

r COMPANY 

Boston, Mass. 








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HE . . . QUICKLY BEGAN A LITTLE TUNE.” 

{See page 66.) 




Our Little 
Hungarian Cousin 


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By 

Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

Author of “ Our Little Spanish Cousin," “ Our Little Alaskan 
Cousin," “ Our Little Grecian Cousin," “ Our Little 
Australian Cousin," “With a Pessimist 
in Spain," “God, the King, My 
Brother," etc., etc. 


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Illustrated hy 

John Goss 



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Boston 

L. C. Page y Company 
MDCCCCIX 

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Copyright, igog 

By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 
All rights reserved 
First Impression, October, igog 


©CI.A251300 


The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 


Philip Henry de Roulet 









Preface 


A PART of the great Austrian Empire, 
Hungary, is a kingdom in itself, with its 
own laws and its own government. Through 
this land runs the “beautiful blue Dan- 
ube,’^ with castles and towns upon its 
wooded banks; on one side the mountains, 
on the other the Great Plains. 

Here dwell many races with quaint cus- 
toms and quainter costumes, and it is of 
these people that you will read in Our 
Little Hungarian Cousin. 


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Contents 


CHAPTER page 

I. With the Tziganes i 

II. Along the Gypsy Trail . . . . ii 

III. At the Gulyas’ Hut 27 

IV. Deserted ! 39 

V. The Fair of Harom-Szolohoz ... 55 

VI. Village Life . . . . . . . 71 

VII. The Unexpected 83 

VIII. Marushka Makes a Journey . . . 106 

IX. ‘‘Oh, the Eyes of My Mother!” . 123 




List of Illustrations 


4 

PAGE 

He . . . QUICKLY BEGAN A LITTLE TUNE {See 

page 66 ) Frontispiece ^ 

“ Searched through Banda Bela with a keen 

GLANCE 7 ^ 

Washing in the River 59 ^ 

‘‘‘Who is this child?’ demanded the Baron- 
ess ” 82 

“First came Marushka” 92^ 

“ ‘ Across the river you see Buda,’ said the 

Baroness’ 115 



Our Little Hungarian 
Cousin 


CHAPTER I 

WITH THE TZIGANES 

Banda Bela, the little Gypsy boy, had 
tramped all day through the hills, until, 
footsore, weary, and discouraged, he was 
ready to throw himself down to sleep. He 
was very hungry, too. 

“I shall go to the next hilltop and per- 
haps there is a road, and some passerby 
will throw me a crust. If not, I can feed 
upon my music and sleep,” he thought to 
himself, as he clambered through the bushes 
to the top of the hill. There he stood, his 
old violin held tight in his scrawny hand. 


2 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

his ragged little figure silhouetted against 
the sky. 

Through the central part of Hungary 
flows in rippling beauty the great river of 
the Danube. Near to Kecskes the river 
makes a sudden bend, the hills grow 
sharper in outline, while to the south and 
west sweep the great grass plains. 

Before Banda Bela, like a soft green sea, 
the Magyar plain stretched away until it 
joined the horizon in a dim line. Its green 
seas of grain were cut only by the tall 
poplar trees which stood like sentinels 
against the sky. Beside these was pitched 
a Gypsy camp, its few tents and huts 
huddled together, looking dreary and for- 
lorn in the dim twilight. The little hovels 
were built of bricks and stones and a bit of 
thatch, carelessly built to remain only until 
the wander spirit rose again in their breasts 
and the Gypsies went forth to roam the 


3 


With the Tziganes 

green velvet plain, or float down the Dan- 
ube in their battered old boats, lazily happy 
in the sun. 

In front of the largest hut was the fire- 
pot, slung from a pole over a fire of sticks 
burning brightly. The Gypsies were gath- 
ered about the fire for their evening meal, 
and the scent of goulash came from the 
kettle. Banda Bela could hardly stand 
from faintness, but he raised his violin to 
his wizened chin and struck a long chord. 
As the fine tone of the old violin smote the 
night air, the Gypsies ceased talking and 
looked up. Unconscious of their scrutiny, 
the boy played a czardas^ weird and strange. 
At first there was a cool, sad strain like 
the night song of some bird, full of the gentle 
sadness of those without a home, without 
friends, yet not without kindness; then the 
time changed, grew quicker and quicker 
until it seemed as if the old violin danced 


4 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

itself, so full of wild Gypsy melody were its 
strains. Fuller and fuller they rose; the 
bow in the boy’s fingers seeming to skim 
like a bird over the strings. The music, full 
of wild longing, swelled until its voice rose 
like the wild scream of some forest crea- 
ture, then crashed to a full stop. The 
violin dropped to the boy’s side, his eyes 
closed, and he fell heavily to the ground. 

When Banda Bela opened his eyes he 
found himself lying upon the ground beside 
the Gypsy fire, his head upon a bundle of 
rags. The first thing his eyes fell upon 
was a little girl about six years old, who 
was trying to put into his mouth a bit of 
bread soaked in gravy. The child was 
dressed only in a calico frock, her head 
was uncovered, her hair, not straight and 
black like that of the other children who 
swarmed about, but light as corn silk, 
hung loosely about her face. Her skin was 


5 


With the Tziganes 

as dark as sun and wind make the Tziganes, 
but the eyes which looked into his with a 
gentle pity were large and deep and blue. 

“Who are you?” he asked, half con- 
scious. 

“ Marushka,” she answered simply. 
“What is your name ?” 

“Banda Bela,” he said faintly. 

“Why do you play like the summer rain 
on the tent?” she demanded. 

“Because the rain is from heaven on all 
the Tziganes, and it is good, whether one 
lies snug within the tent or lifts the face to 
the drops upon the heath.” 

“I like you, Banda Bela,” said little 
Marushka. “Stay with us!” 

“That is as your mother wills,” said 
Banda Bela, sitting up. 

“I have no mother, though her picture 
I wear always upon my breast,” she said. 
“But I will ask old Jarnik, for all he says 


6 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

the others do” and she sped away to an 
old Gypsy, whose gray hair hung in matted 
locks upon his shoulders. In a moment 
she was back again, skimming like a bird 
across the grass. 

‘‘Jarnik says you are to eat, for hunger 
tells no true tale,^’ she said. 

‘H am glad to eat, but I speak truth,’’ 
said Banda Bela calmly. 

He ate from the fire-pot hungrily, dip- 
ping the crust she gave him into the stew 
and scooping up bits of meat and beans. 

am filled,” he said at length. 
will speak with Jarnik.” 

Marushka danced across the grass in 
front of him like a little will-o’-the-wisp, 
her fair locks floating in the breeze, in the 
half light her eyes shining like the stars 
which already twinkled in the Hungarian 
sky. 

The Gypsy dogs bayed at the moon, 









SEARCHED THROUGH BANDA BELA WITH A KEEN GLANCE 



With the Tziganes 7 

hanging like a crescent over the crest of 
the hill and silvering all with its calm radi- 
ance. Millions of fireflies flitted over the 
plain, and the scent of the ripened grain 
was fresh upon the wind. 

Banda Bela sniffed the rich, earthy 
smell, the kiss of the wind was kind upon 
his brow; he was fed and warm. 

‘‘Life is sweet,'’ he murmured. “In 
the Gypsy camp is brother kindness. If 
they will have me, I will stay." 

Old Jarnik had eyes like needles. They 
searched through Banda Bela with a keen 
glance and seemed to pierce his heart. 

“The Gypsy camp has welcome for the 
stranger," he said at length. “Will you 
stay ?" 

“You ask me nothing," said Banda 
Bela, half surprised, half fearing, yet rais- 
ing brave eyes to the stern old face. 

^‘I have nothing to ask," said old Jar- 


8 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

nik. “All I wish to know you have told 
me. 

‘‘But I have said nothing/’ said Banda 
Bela. 

“Your face to me lies open as the summer 
sky. Its lines I scan. They tell me of 
hunger, of weariness and loneliness, things 
of the wild. Nothing is there of the city’s 
evil. You may stay with us and know 
hunger no longer. This one has asked 
for you,” and the old man laid his hand 
tenderly upon little Marushka’s head. 
“You are hers, your only care to see that 
no harm comes to these lint locks. The 
child is dear to me. Will you stay?” 

“I will stay,” said Banda Bela, “and I 
will care for the child as for my sister. 
But first I will speak, since I have nothing 
to keep locked.” 

“Speak, then,” said the old man. Though 
his face was stern, almost fierce, there was 


With the Tziganes 9 

a gentle dignity about him and the boy’s 
heart warmed to him. 

‘‘Of myself I will tell you all I know,” 
he said. “I am Banda Bela, son of Saf- 
arik, dead with my mother. When the 
camp fell with the great red sickness ^ I 
alone escaped. Then was I ten years old. 
Now I am fourteen. Since then I have 
wandered, playing for a crust, eating sel- 
dom, sleeping beneath the stars, my clothes 
the gift of passing kindness. Only my 
violin I kept safe, for my father had said 
it held always life within its strings. ‘Not 
only food, boy,’ he said, ‘but joy and com- 
fort and thoughts of things which count 
for more than bread.’ So I lived with it, 
my only friend. Now I have two more, 
you — ” he flashed a swift glance at the 
old man, “and this little one. I will serve 
you well.” 


1 Smallpox. 


lo Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘‘You are welcome/’ said old Jarnik, 
simply. “Now, go to sleep.” 

Little Marushka, who had been listening 
to all that had been said, slipped her hand 
in his and led him away to the boys’ tent. 
She did not walk, but holding one foot in 
her hand, she hopped along like a gay little 
bird, chattering merrily. 

“I like you, Banda Bela, you shall stay.” 


CHAPTER II 


ALONG THE GYPSY TRAIL 

Banda Bela found life in the Gypsy 
camp quiet, but not unpleasant. He had 
a place to sleep and food to eat. Jarnik 
was good to him and Marushka his devoted 
friend. Rosa, a young and very pretty 
Gypsy girl, was kind to the waif, and the 
rest of the tribe paid no attention to him. 
What was one ragged boy, more or less, to 
them ? The camp fairly swarmed with 
them. 

Since the Tziganes had crossed the 
mountains from India many hundred years 
ago, they had wandered about Hungary, 
and the Gypsies to whom Banda Bela had 
come were of the Gletecore^ or wandering 


12 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

Gypsies, a better race than the Kortoran 
who dwell in mud huts or caves near the 
villages. 

The Gletecore are never still. They wan- 
der from one end of Hungary to the other, 
playing their music, begging, stealing, some- 
times carving little utensils out of wood, or 
tinkering for the living which seems to come 
to them easily, perhaps because they want 
but little. 

There was little that Banda Bela could 
do, but he waited upon old Jarnik, ran 
errands, watched Marushka, and caught 
many a fine fish from the river for the fire- 
pot. The Danube was full of fish, delicious 
in flavour. 

Always the little boy could make music, 
and his violin charmed many an hour for 
him, while Marushka, ever following at his 
heels like a little dog, learned to love his 
music scarcely less than he did. 


Along the Gypsy Trail 13 

One morning Marushka wakened Banda 
Bela by calling loudly: 

‘‘Banda Bela! Come! The sun is up. 
Stepan has come back, and they move the 
camp to-day!’^ 

Banda Bela sprang to his feet and hurried 
out of the tent. Already there were signs 
of stir in the camp. Stepan, a young Gypsy 
chief, was standing beside the cart which 
was being loaded with camp utensils. 
Banda Bela had not seen him before, for 
the chief had been away from the band 
ever since the boy came. 

Stepan was six feet tall; part of his coal- 
black hair was braided into a tight knob 
over his forehead, the rest hung down in 
matted, oily locks upon his shoulders. In 
his mouth was a long Weixel-wood pipe, 
and he wore a loose, white, cotton shirt 
gathered around the neck, and baggy white 
trousers. He was very handsome and his 


14 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

copper-coloured skin shone as if it was pol- 
ished. All about him swarmed children 
and dogs, while the older Gypsies were 
packing up the camp effects and loading 
them into the two or three carts, which 
patient horses stood ready to draw. 

“Eat quickly,” cried Marushka. “There 
is but a crust left, I saved it for you. We 
go on the road to-day, and hunger will 
gnaw your stomach before we camp again.” 
Banda Bela took the food, ate it hurriedly, 
and ran up to Stepan. 

“Let me help,” he said briefly. 

“Who are you and what can you do?” 
the young chief looked him over keenly. 

“I am Banda Bela. I can make music 
with my violin, swing an adze, cut bowls 
from wood, drive a horse, row a boat, 
catch fish, do as I am bid, and keep my 
tongue silent,” he said. 

“If you can do the last two things you 


Along the Gypsy Trail 15 

have already learned much/" said Stepan. 
‘‘Go and help Jarnik load, for he is old 
and feels himself young.” 

Banda Bela nodded and went over to 
where the old man was loading one of the 
carts. He helped as best he could and 
soon the wagons were loaded and the camp 
deserted. The Gypsies had taken the road. 
It was a beautiful day. The wind blew 
cool and free from the river, which swept 
along at the foot of wooded heights, gleam- 
ing like glass in the morning sun. Ducks 
splashed in the water, and now and then 
Banda Bela saw the waters boil and bubble. 
Something black would flash above the sur- 
face, there would be a splash and a swirl 
of waters, and the radiating ripples reached 
the shore as a great fish would spring into 
the air, flash in the sunlight, and sink 
into the waters again. 

Steamers passed down the stream on their 


1 6 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

way to Buda-Pest, or towing huge barges 
filled with the peasants’ teams and wagons, 
loaded with grain to be ground at the quaint 
water mills, built on piles out in the stream 
where the current was so strong as to turn 
the huge wheels quickly and grind the 
grain, raised on the great plains of the 
south. To the north the mountains rose 
blue and beautiful. The boy saw all. 
His eyes shone; his cheek was flushed. 

‘'Good is the Gypsy trail,” he said to 
himself. “Sun, light, and wind, all free, 
and I am with mine own people. Life is 
sweet.” 

All day long the carts rumbled along. 
When the sun was high overhead the 
Gypsies rested beside the river. Banda 
Bela caught some fish, and Rosa cooked 
them for supper. 

Next day they turned from the river and 
travelled over the plains. There was no 


Along the Gypsy Trail 17 

shade. To the right stretched great fields 
of maize and flax. The dust was white 
and fine, and so hot it seemed almost to 
prick their faces like needles. It rose in 
white clouds around the carts and followed 
them in whirling columns. 

In front of them from time to time other 
clouds of dust arose, which, upon nearing, 
they discovered to be peasant carts, driven 
with four or six horses, for the peasants 
in this part of Hungary are rich and pros- 
perous. The soil is fertile and yields 
wonderful crops, though for ninety years 
it has had no rest, but the peasants are 
not tempted to laziness by the ease with 
which things grow. They begin their day’s 
work at three o’clock in the morning and 
work until eight or nine at night, eating 
their luncheon and supper in the fields. 

Banda Bela saw many of them, fine, 
tall fellows, working easily and well, but 


1 8 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

in his heart he was glad that he did not 
have to toil under the hot sun. 

Shepherds were seated here and there 
in the fields, looking like small huts, for 
they wore queer conical bund as which cov- 
ered them from their necks to their knees. 
These sheepskin coats are worn both 
winter and summer, for the shepherds say 
they keep out heat as well as cold. 

The shepherds must watch the flocks by 
day and night, and when the weather is 
wet they sleep sitting on small round stools 
to keep them from the damp ground. 
Toward dark the Gypsy band halted by 
the roadside, near to a group of shepherds’ 
huts. Here they were to stop for the night 
and Banda Bela was glad, for his legs 
ached with fatigue. He had walked nearly 
all day except for a short time when 
Marushka had asked to have him ride in 
the cart and play for her. 


Along the Gypsy Trail 19 

The shepherds greeted the Tziganes 
kindly. Jews and Armenians the Hun- 
garians dislike, but for the Gypsies there 
is a fellow feeling, for all Hungarians love 
music and nearly all Tziganes have music 
at their fingers’ ends and in their velvet 
voices. 

The Gypsies pitched their tents and 
Banda Bela stole aside from the camp to 
play his beloved violin. He tuned it and 
then gently ran his bow up and down the 
strings and began a soft little melody. 
It was like the crooning song of a young 
mother to her child. The boy was a genius, 
playing with wonderful correctness and 
with a love for music which showed in 
every note he sounded. The shepherds 
paused in preparing their evening meal 
and listened. When he ceased playing 
they called to him, ‘Tf you will play more 
you may eat with us.” 


20 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘H will play gladly, and gladly will I 
eat,’’ he answered, showing in a gleaming 
smile his teeth, even and white as a puppy’s. 
In the pockets of the shepherds’ coats were 
stored all manner of good things, bacon, 
black bread, and wine, even slivowitz, 
the wonderfully good Hungarian brandy, 
which Banda Bela had tasted only once in 
his life, but which the Gypsies make to 
perfection. 

The shepherds’ camp had a one-roomed, 
straw-thatched hut, which they used as a 
storehouse for their coats and extra food 
supplies. A great well was in front of the 
hut. It had a huge beam of wood with a 
cross-piece at the top and from this hung 
a bucket. The boy drew up a bucketful of 
the water and found it deliciously cold. 

Near the camp was the shepherds’ cooking 
hut, made of reeds tied together and with a 
hole in the top for the escape of the smoke. 


Along the Gypsy Trail 21 

The hut looked like a corn shock with a 
door in one side. This door was open and 
Banda Bela saw a fire burning brightly, a 
pot hung over the embers, and a smell of 
kasa arose, as a tall shepherd tossed the 
meal and bacon into a kind of cake. 

Marushka had strayed away from the 
Gypsies and now stood beside Banda Bela 
shyly watching the cooking in silence. 
She was a quiet little thing, with her golden 
hair unlike the bold, black-eyed little Gypsy 
children who rolled around the ground, 
half clad, snatching food from the pot and 
gnawing bones like hungry dogs. 

“Who is this child?” asked one of the 
shepherds. “She is no Gypsy. What is 
your name, child ?” 

“I am Marushka,” she answered sweetly. 
“Who are you?” 

“I am a shepherd,” he said, smiling at 
her. 


22 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘‘Do you tend sheep all day?’’ she de- 
manded. 

“No, once I was one of the juhasz^^ but 
now I am past that. I am one of the gul- 
yasy^ and in another year I shall be among 
the csikos.^’ ® 

“Where are your oxen?” asked Ma- 
rushka. 

“There in the plain,” he said, pointing 
to what looked like a great, still, white sea 
some distance away. As he spoke the sea 
seemed to break into waves, first rippling, 
then stormy, as the oxen rose to their feet, 
many of them tossing their heads in the 
air and bellowing loudly. They were im- 
mense creatures, perfectly white and very 
beautiful, with great dark eyes and intelli- 
gent faces. 

“There are my children,” said the shep- 
herd. “But I am afraid there is a wind 


Swine-herd. 


2 Ox-herd. 


8 Horse-herd. 


Along the Gypsy Trail 23 

storm coming, for they show fear only of 
storm or fire/’ He watched the herd for a 
few moments, but though they snuffed the 
air they finally settled down quietly to rest 
again. 

‘'Let us eat,” said the shepherd. “Per- 
haps the storm has passed over.” 

How good the kasa tasted. The little 
Tziganes had never eaten it before, and 
they enjoyed it thoroughly. 

The sun was sinking in the west, and 
the yellow fields of grain were gleaming as 
if tipped with gold. Dusk deepened, stars 
peeped out of the violet heavens. Here 
and there leaped sudden flame, as some 
shepherd, feeling lonely, signalled thus to a 
friend across the plain. Mists rose white 
and ghost-like; the land seemed turned to 
silver. The tired children turned to seek 
their camp to sleep when — 

“Lie down!” cried one of the shepherds. 


24 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘‘Lie flat on your faces and do not stir! A 
storm comes!” So urgent was the call 
that Banda Bela dropped at once flat upon 
the grass, grasping Marushka’s hand and 
pulling her down beside him. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Only lie still 
and the storm will pass above us.” She lay 
like a little frightened bird, trembling and 
quivering, but saying nothing. The great 
wind broke over them with a swirl as of 
fierce waters. It whistled and screamed, 
blowing with it a fine white dust, then as 
quickly as it had come it passed, and all was 
still. Banda Bela raised his head and looked 
around him. The wind had died down as 
suddenly as it had sprung up and the plain 
was so still that not even the grasses stirred. 
Their shepherd friends rose from the ground 
where they too had thrown themselves, and 
one of them called to the children to come 
back. 


Along the Gypsy Trail 25 

“Are you safe he asked. 

“Oh, yes,’^ said Banda Bela. 

“I was frightened, but Banda Bela held 
my hand,” said little Marushka. “Now I 
am very thirsty.” 

“The dust and wind always cause great 
thirst,” said the herder. “But no one need 
be thirsty in the ‘Land of a Thousand 
Springs!’ Here is water cool and fresh in 
the great well, and a little sweet, white 
wine. Drink and then run quickly away 
to sleep, for it is late for small men and 
women.” 

“What are those giant things which 
stand so dark against the sky ? They 
frighten me,” cried Marushka, as she clung 
to Banda Bela and looked behind the shep- 
herds’ huts. 

“Only mighty haystacks, little one. 
Enough hay is there to last twenty regi- 
ments of soldiers fifty years, so that our 


26 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

cattle need never go hungry. Go now. 
To-morrow you camp here and I will show 
you many things.” 

‘‘Would that those children were mine,” 
he said to himself as the two ran away to 
the camp. “The boy I like, he is clean 
and straight, and his music stirs my soul; 
but the little girl reaches my very heart.” 


CHAPTER III 


AT THE GULYAS ’ HUT 

From the Gypsy camp came sounds of 
wailing. Loud and long the howls arose 
and Banda Bela sprang from the ground 
where he had spent the night, to see what 
was the trouble. He found a group of 
Gypsies gathered around the door of one 
of the tents, the women seated on the 
ground, rocking back and forth, wailing, 
while the men stood in stolid silence. 
Then Marushka stole timidly to his side 
and whispered, ‘‘Oh, Banda Bela, old 
Jarnik is dead. He died in the night.’’ 
The child’s eyes were red with weeping. 
“They did not know it till the morning. 
Poor old Jarnik! He was so good and 
kind!” 


27 


28 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

Banda Bela looked anxious. Waif and 
stray that he was he had grown quickly 
to know his friends from his enemies. 
Jarnik had been his friend. Now that he 
was gone would the other Gypsies befriend 
him ? The lonely boy had learned to love 
little Marushka and hated the thought of 
leaving her, but he felt that without 
Jarnik he would not long be welcome in 
the Gypsy camp. Silently he took the child 
by the hand and led her away from the 
wailing crowd of Gypsies. 

‘‘We can do no good there, little one,’’ he 
said. “Come with me. I have a bit of 
bread from yesterday.” Marushka’s sobs 
grew less as he seated her by the roadside 
and gave her bits of bread to eat. 

“Do not cry, little one,” he said gently. 
“Jarnik was old and tired and now he is 
resting. You must be all mine to care for 
now. I shall ask Stepan to give you to 


At the Gulyas' Hut 29 

me/’ He thought over the last talk he 
had had with Jarnik. 

‘‘Take care of the little one/’ the old 
man had said. “She has no one here in 
all the tribe. She is not a Gypsy, Banda 
Bela. We found her one day beneath a 
tall poplar tree beside the road, far, far 
from here. She could scarcely speak, only 
lisp her name, ask for ‘Mother,’ and scold 
of ‘bad Yda.’ She was dressed in pretty 
white clothes and we knew she was the 
child of rich persons. My daughter had 
just lost her baby and she begged for the 
child, so we took her with us. The Gypsies 
say she will bring bad luck to the tribe, 
for people say she is stolen, so you must 
care well for her. There are those in the 
tribe who wish her ill.” 

Banda Bela remembered this, and thought 
how he could protect the little girl from 
harm. Childlike, her tears soon dry, Ma- 


30 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

ruskha prattled about the sunshine and the 
sky. As they sat, a huge cloud of dust 
came down the road. Nearing them, it 
showed a peasant cart drawn by five fine 
horses, and in it sat a large peasant woman, 
broad-bosomed and kindly faced. She 
smiled as the children stared up at her, 
and the cart rumbled on and stopped at the 
sherpherds’ huts. 

Attracted by the gay harness of the horses, 
the children wandered toward them. 

"‘Good morning, little folk,’’ called out 
their friend of the night before. “Come 
and eat again with me. Here is my wife 
come to spend a few days with me. She 
has good things in her pockets.” Marushka 
went up to the peasant woman and looked 
into her face and then climbed into her lap. 
“I like you,” she said, and the woman’s* 
arm went around her. 

“Poor little dirty thing!” she exclaimed. 


31 


At the Gulyas’ Hut 

‘H wish I had her at home, Emeric, I 
would wash and dress her in some of Irma^s 
clothes and she would be as pretty as a 
wild rose/’ 

‘‘I wash my face every morning,” said 
Marushka, pouting a little. ‘‘The other 
Gypsy children never do.” Her dress was 
open at the neck and showed her little 
white throat, about which was a string, and 
the shepherd’s wife took hold of it. 

“Is it a charm you wear, little one ?” she 
asked. 

“No, that is my mother’s picture,” said 
Marushka, pulling out of her dress a little 
silver medal. 

“Let me see it.” The shepherd’s wife 
examined the bit of silver. “Emeric!” she 
called to her husband in excited tones. 
“See here! This is no Gypsy child! Be- 
neath her dress her skin is white — her 
hair is gold — her eyes are like the sky, 


32 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

and around her neck she wears the medal of 
Our Lady. She is of Christian parents. 
She must have been stolen by those thiev- 
ing Gypsies. What do you know of 
Marushka ? ’’ she demanded, turning to 
Banda Bela, but the boy only shook his 
head. 

‘‘I have been with the band only a few 
weeks,” he said. ‘‘Old Jarnik told me 
that they found the child deserted by the 
roadside and took care of her.” 

“A likely story,” sniffed the woman. 
“I shall go and see this Jarnik!” 

“But he cannot answer — ” began Banda 
Bela, when the good woman interrupted — 

“Not answer! Boy! there is no man, be 
he Gypsy or Christian, who will not answer 
me!” The shepherd nodded his head rem- 
iniscently. 

“Jarnik won’t,” said Marushka. “He’s 
dead!” 


At the Gulyas’ Hut 33 

‘‘Dead!” The woman was a little dis- 
concerted. 

“He died during the night,” said Banda 
Bela. “There is great wailing for him 
now. We came away because nobody 
wanted us around. They will wail all 
day.” 

“Eat with us again, children,” said the 
kind-hearted shepherd. “Your cheeks are 
the cheeks of famine. You are hungry, 
both eat! and the boy can make music for 
us. There will be time enough to ques- 
tion the Gypsies to-morrow.” 

Before the herder’s hut a bough with 
several short branches protruding from 
it had been thrust into the ground, and 
upon these cooking pots had been hung. 
Soon goulash was simmering in the 
pot, and kasa was tossed together. The 
peasant’s wife had brought bread and 
fine cheese, and curious-looking things 


34 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

which the children had never seen be- 
fore. 

“These are potatoes/’ said she. “They 
are new things to eat in this part of the 
country. The Government wants to en- 
courage the people to earn their living 
from the earth. So it has made a study 
of all that can be raised in the country. 
Hungary produces grapes, maize, wheat, 
cereals, hemp, hops, and all manner of vege- 
tables, and the State helps the people to 
raise crops in every way that it can. About 
five years ago the head of the Department 
of Agriculture decided that the people 
should be taught to raise potatoes, which 
are cheap vegetables and very nourishing. 
Arrangements were made with three large 
farms at Bars, Nyitra, and Szepes, to raise 
potatoes from seeds sent them by the 
Department. The next season these pota- 
toes were distributed for seed to smaller 


35 


At the Gulyas’ Hut 

farmers, with the condition that they in 
turn distribute potatoes for seed to other 
farmers. In this way nearly everyone soon 
was raising potatoes. 

‘"Sit and eat,"" said she, and the children 
feasted royally. There was white wine to 
drink, but Marushka had buffalo"s milk, 
cool and sweet. The little girrs face 
was smiling and she looked bright and 
happy. 

Then Banda Bela played his very best, 
for the kindness had won his heart. 

“Can you sing, boy? Have you music 
in your throat as well as in your fingers?"" 
asked the shepherd"s wife. 

“I sing a little, yes,"" he answered. 
“I will sing to you the ‘Yellow Cock- 
chafer," which Czuika Panna sang to 
Rakoczi."" ‘ 


famous Hungarian patriot. 


36 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 


Lento 





jf-wA- r"3 \ d * i 1 — d -T ±d 

0 1 ,, 1 11 ; ^ #1 

- « # 

« • c 


• ^ 


Cse-re-bo - gar 1 

sar ■ 

• ga cse - re - bo-gdr 




Nem Kdr - dem to - led mi Korlesznyar 


p— j 





1 m 

i— 1— 

~\ — • 

/I ft • r 

^ P m 

1 



\ 


J u 1 


^ ^ w 

1 1 

1 



s 

w 

^ k h 





✓ V 


Ast sem K6r-dem so - Kd, - ig d - lek e ? 



Csakazt mond meg ro - zsdm - d le - szek - e ? 


“ Little Cockchafer, golden fellow, 

I ask thee not when comes the summer time, 
Nor do I ask how long shall life be mine. 

I ask thee but to tell me 
When I my love’s shall be.” 


The boy’s voice was sweet and true, and 
he sang the little song prettily, but so 
mournfully that tears streamed down the 
broad, red face of the peasant woman. 


37 


At the Gulyas’ Hut 

‘‘Why do you sing to break one’s heart ?” 
she demanded, and Banda Bela answered: 

“I sang it but as my mother sang when 
she was here.” 

“She is dead, then?” 

“She and my father, my brothers and 
sisters. I have no one left.” The boy’s 
face clouded. 

“Me you have,” said Marushka, with a 
funny little pout. 

“I must go to my herd now,” said the 
shepherd. “Come back to-night and we 
shall give you your supper for another 
song.” 

They reached the shepherd’s hut that 
evening to find his wife awaiting him, but 
he did not come. He was far away with 
his herd. As it grew dark his wife gave 
the children bread and milk and bade them 
hurry to bed. 

“It is late for little children like you,” 


38 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

she said. “To-morrow we will see you 
again. To-day I asked about you at the 
camp and got but black looks in answer.'" 

Banda Bela hurried Marushka away, 
fearing a scolding, for he had not meant to 
stay away all day, but when he reached the 
camp it was dark and still. The fire was 
nearly out under the fire-pot, the tent flaps 
were closed. He dared not waken any 
one, but Dushka, an old Gypsy woman with 
an evil face, looked out from her tent. 

“Oh, it is you, is it?" she said. “Well, 
there is no food left, but drink this and you 
will sleep," and she gave each of the chil- 
dren a mug of dark liquid. It tasted bit- 
ter but they drank obediently. Then the 
old woman took Marushka into her tent 
while Banda Bela threw himself down under 
a poplar tree near the fire embers, and was 
soon fast asleep. 


CHAPTER IV 


DESERTED 

Banda Bela slept heavily through the 
night. He dreamed in a confused way 
that he heard the Gypsies talking and one 
of them said, “She brings ill luck. Men 
ask of her white locks. The boy is well 
enough, though one more to feed. But 
the other brings ill fortune to the band.^’ 
Another said, “No ill will come to them.’’ 
Then he dreamed no more, but slept a 
dead and heavy sleep. He was awakened 
by a hand upon his shoulder. Some one 
shook him and he started to his feet to see 
the shepherd bending over him. 

“What is it?” asked Banda Bela. 

“Where is your camp and where is the 
little girl?” demanded the shepherd. 

39 


40 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

Banda Bela looked around him in amaze- 
ment. Of the Gypsy camp there was not 
a trace left, save that dead embers lay where 
once the fire-pot had been. Tents, carts, 
horses, Gypsies, — all had vanished from 
the face of the earth as completely as if 
they had never been there. 

‘^They have gone and left me!’^ cried 
Banda Bela. ‘‘Marushka! Where is Ma- 
rushka 

‘‘Banda Bela!” called a faint voice behind 
him, and he turned quickly to see the little 
girl sitting under a great poplar tree, rub- 
bing her eyes stupidly. He ran to her and 
the shepherd caught her in his arms. 

“What happened in the tent last night ?” 
asked Banda Bela. 

“Rosa took me on her lap and cried,” 
said Marushka, “then I went to sleep; 
but why am I here and where is Rosa ?” 

“During the night my wife awoke and 


Deserted 


41 


heard faint sounds of stirring about out- 
side the tent and muffled horses’ hoofs. 
One of the horse herd is missing, many 
things are taken from the cook hut, and 
the Gypsies are gone. I do not know why 
we did not hear them more plainly when 
they passed,” said the shepherd. 

“They always tie up their horses’ feet 
in rags when they travel at night,” said 
Banda Bela. “Now they may be many 
miles from here. No one knows where, for 
they always cover their tracks. Don’t cry, 
Marushka, I’ll take care of you.” 

“You are but a child yourself,” said the 
shepherd. “Come to my hut and eat 
and then we shall see what is to be done.” 

Marushka dried her tears and followed 
Banda Bela. In silence the two children 
ate the bread and milk the shepherd’s wife 
prepared for them. Then Banda Bela 
said: 


42 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

“Stay here, Marushka. I am going to 
the cross-roads to see if they have left a 
sign for us, but I do not think it at all 
likely/^ 

“What sign would they leave?’’ asked 
the shepherd. 

“When they go and wish their friends to 
follow they leave at each cross-road a twig 
pointing in the direction they have gone. 
For fear one would think it but a stray 
twig they cross it with another, and the 
Gypsy always watches for the crossed 
branches when following a trail.” 

“You may look, but you will find no 
crossed branches at the cross-roads,” said 
the peasant, as Banda Bela ran off. The 
peasant and his wife talked together in 
low tones. Soon the boy came back and 
shook his head mournfully. 

“They have left no trail,” he said. 
“They left us behind on purpose.” 


Deserted 


43 


‘‘The draught they gave you was 
drugged/" said the shepherd. “Tell me, 
Banda Bela, what will you do 

“I must take Marushka and go to the 
city,"" said the boy. “By walking slowly 
and often carrying her we can do it. In 
the city I can play in the streets and earn 
bread for both."" 

“But do you like the city? It is noisy 
and dirty. You will not be free as on the 
wild,"" said the peasant"s wife. 

“I shall like it not at all,"" said the boy. 
“But there is nothing else."" 

“If Marushka will come and live with 
me I will care for her as my child,"" said 
the shepherd"s wife. “She shall have 
clean clothes and plenty to eat and a 
garden with flowers. Will you come, 
little one ? "" 

Marushka looked up into the kind face 
and smiled. “I will come if Banda Bela 


44 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

may come also/’ she said. The shepherd 
laughed. 

“I told you, Irma, it was useless to take the 
one without the other. Take both. Banda 
Bela will serve you well, of that I am sure.” 

‘‘That I will,” said the boy heartily. 
“Only take care of Marushka and some- 
times let me play my music and I will do 
all that you tell me.” 

“In this world one can but try,” said the 
shepherd’s wife, “then see if good or evil 
come. I have not the heart to leave these 
two waifs to starve on this great plain. 
Come, Emeric, the horses! It will be night 
before I reach home and there will be 
much to do.” 

Almost before the children knew it they 
found themselves seated beside the shep- 
herd’s wife as the cart was whirled along 
in the opposite direction from which they 
had come. 


Deserted 


45 


They passed country carts made of a 
huge pine beam with a pair of small wheels 
at either end. Gay parties of peasants 
were seated on the pole, the feet braced 
against a smaller pole. 

‘‘What queer-looking people,’’ said Ma- 
rushka. 

“They are not Magyars,” said Banda 
Bela. 

“How did you know that?” asked Aszs- 
zony Semeyer. 

“My father told me many things of 
Hungary as we travelled together,” said 
the boy. “He told me all the history of 
how the country first belonged to the 
Magyars. I remember it almost in the 
very words he told me.” 

“What did he say?” demanded Aszs- 
zony Semeyer. 

“‘Many hundreds of years ago the Hun- 
garian people,’ he said,” began Banda Bela, 


46 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘‘ ‘ were shepherds who tended their flocks 
upon the plains of Scythia. The story is 
that Nimrod, son of Japhet and Enet, his 
wife, went into the land of Havila, where 
Enet had two sons, Hunyar and Magyar. 
These grew up to be strong and to love 
the chase. One day, as they hunted, 
they heard sounds of music. These they 
followed, and came to the hut of the 
‘Children of the Bush,’ where there were 
two daughters of the king, singing beauti- 
fully. 

‘‘ ‘ Hunyar and Magyar married these 
two sisters, and their lands were not enough. 
Westward they moved, from the children 
of Hunyar coming the Huns, from Magyar’s 
children, the Magyars. 

‘‘‘They conquered many peoples, but 
left to each its customs. All were ruled 
under one chief. So that is why we have 
so many different peoples to-day.’ ” 


Deserted 


47 

‘‘You know more than I do, Banda Bela,’’ 
said Aszszony Semeyer. 

“My father used to tell me many stories 
and legends, but I never remembered 
them very well.” 

“Marushka, you will be very tired before 
you reach the village. Curl up on the seat 
and perhaps you can take a nap.” 

“Yes, Aszszony,” Marushka said obe- 
diently, and she and Banda were very quiet. 

It was a long drive, but at last the cart 
rattled down the street of a large village 
and drew up in front of a white house. 
Marushka was already asleep and had to 
be carried into the house. Banda Bela 
stumbled along after the shepherd’s wife 
and, though with his eyes half shut, obe- 
diently ate the bread and milk she put 
before him. Then he found himself on the 
kitchen floor before a huge tub of water, 
with a cake of soap and a large towel. 


48 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘‘Strip! Scrub!’’ commanded Aszszony 
Semeyer. “Scrub till you are clean from 
head to foot, then dry yourself, and I will 
bring you some clothes. You will never 
see these again.” She picked up a brass 
tongs from the huge fireplace and with 
them carried the boy’s rags out of the room, 
her nose fairly curling at the corners with 
disgust. 

Banda Bela did his best. The water 
was cold, for Hungarians enjoy cold baths, 
and at the first plunge his teeth chattered. 
But after a while he rather enjoyed it and 
scrubbed himself till his dark skin glowed 
freshly, in spots, it is true, yet he thought 
it quite wonderful. Not so Aszszony Se- 
meyer. She entered the kitchen, red and 
flushed with her labours in scouring Ma- 
rushka. 

“You are not clean, no! I will show 
you — ” and she caught up a scrubbing 


Deserted 


49 


brush. Banda Bela gasped. He would 
not cry. He was too big a boy for that, 
but he felt as if he were being ironed with 
a red-hot iron. Arms, legs, and back, — 
all were attacked so fiercely that he won- 
dered if there would be any skin left. 
Half an hour she worked, then wiped him 
dry and said: 

“Now you look like a tame Christian! 
You are not really clean, it will take many 
scrubbings to make you that — and more 
to keep you so — but the worst is done.^’ 
She cut his wild locks close to his head and 
surveyed her work proudly. 

“Not such a bad-looking boy,” she said 
to herself. “Now for a night shirt and 
bed.” She threw over his head an old 
cotton shirt and led him up to the attic. 
“Sleep here,” she said, pointing to a clean 
little bed in one corner. “Rest well and 
to-morrow we shall see what we can do.” 


50 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

“Where is Marushka ? asked Banda 
Bela. 

“Asleep long ago. You shall see her 
in the morning/’ and the boy slept. 

The sun woke him early and he lay for a 
few moments looking about the little room. 
It was high under the eaves, from which 
hung long strings of bright red peppers, 
drying for the winter’s use. The morning 
sun glanced on them and turned them to 
tongues of fire. From the little window 
Banda Bela saw down the village street, 
across the green fields where sparkled 
rippling brooks, away to the hills. His 
heart gave a great leap. He had not slept 
in a room before in all his life. He felt 
stifled. There was his home, the free, 
glad fold, he would fly away while yet he 
could! He sprang from his bed, but where 
were his rags ? Beside his bed was a clean 
white suit, whole and neat, though patched 


Deserted 


51 

and mended, and as he paused he heard a 
voice cry out from below: 

‘‘Where is my Banda Bela? I cannot 
eat my reggeli ^ without Banda Bela/" 

‘‘I must stay with Marushka,’" he said 
to himself, and with a sigh he hurriedly 
put on the white suit, and ran downstairs. 
Aszszony Semeyer was in the kitchen. 

‘‘Good morning,” she said. “One would 
not know you for the same boy. Marushka 
is in the garden feeding the geese. Run 
you and help her,” and she pointed to the 
back of the house, where a little garden was 
gay with flowers, herbs, and shrubs. 

Banda Bela went to find his little charge, 
but saw only four or five geese and a little 
peasant girl throwing them handfuls of 
corn. She was a cute little thing, dressed 
in a blue skirt, a white waist, and an apron 
with gaily embroidered stripes. One plait 


1 Breakfast. 


52 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

of fair hair hung down her back, while 
another plait was coiled around her head, 
pressed low on her brow like a coronet. 
The child’s back was turned toward Banda 
Bela, and he was about to ask her if she 
had seen Marushka, when she turned and 
saw him, and then ran to him, crying, 
‘‘Oh, Banda Bela! How nice you look! 
At first I did not know you, but your eyes 
are always the same! Haven’t I a pretty 
dress ? The shepherd’s wife gave it to me. 
It belonged to her little girl who is dead! 
Is she not good to us, Banda Bela ? ” 

The boy’s sense of gratitude was lively, 
but the memory of the fearful scrubbing 
he had received was equally strong within 
him, and he said: 

“She is very good, yes — but, Marushka, 
did she scrub you last night?” 

“Oh, yes, very hard, but I like the feel of 
myself this morning. Don’t I look nice ?” 


Deserted 


53 


“I should never have known you, and you 
certainly look nice. I hope you will be 
happy here.’’ 

“Oh, I am very happy,” she said, brightly. 
“Of course I could not be if you were not 
here, but if you stay with me I shall like 
it very much. You will stay always, won’t 
you ? ” 

Banda Bela looked across the tiny little 
garden to the sweep of blue hills beyond 
the town. They glistened with dew in the 
morning sun. How fair they looked! But 
the child’s sweet eyes were upon him wist- 
fully and he could not resist their pleading, 
though the fold and air and sky all called 
to him and claimed him as their own. He 
knew how hard it would be for a Gletecore 
to resist the call of the wander spirit, but 
to Marushka he said: 

“I shall stay with you as long as you 
need me,” and Marushka smiled happily. 


54 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

“I shall always need you/’ she said. 
“So always I shall have you. Now come 
and see the geese,” and she led him to see 
the white-feathered creatures with whom 
she had already made friends. There were 
two big black hairy pigs beside, and from 
their pen these grunted cheerfully at the 
children as Aszszony Semeyer called them 
in to breakfast. 


CHAPTER V 


THE FAIR OF HAROM-SZOLOHOZ 

The village of Harom-Szolohoz lies on 
the edge of the plain, where the rolling 
lands sweep toward the hills and those in 
turn to the mountains. 

Many of the men of the village were 
sheep or cattle herders, as Emeric Semeyer, 
living with their herds and seldom return- 
ing home save for high days and holidays. 
Others dwelt in the villages and worked in 
the grain fields, while still others worked 
in the salt mines each year for some months 
at least, for the salt mines of Hungary are 
famous the world over, and employ many 
labourers. 

It was a pleasant little village. In the 

55 


56 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

centre was an open space around which 
was clustered the church, with the town 
house and the larger houses. All the cot- 
tages were white-washed, and had gray- 
shingled roofs. Some of them had gay 
little flower gardens and a few had trees 
planted by the doorway. Their shade is 
not needed, for though the sun is hot, there 
is always the szohordo to sit in. This is 
a .seat placed under the eaves which always 
overhang at one side of the roof. Here 
often the firewood is stacked and one log 
serves as a seat upon which the old people 
may sit and gossip, protected alike from 
sun and rain. 

Upon the doorway of Aszszony Semeyer’s 
house were carved some tulips, a pattern 
much used in Hungary. In the porch of 
the house dried kukurut and paprika hung 
in long ribbons to dry. The front door 
opened into the kitchen where the soup pot 


The Fair of Harom-Szolohoz 57 

simmered upon the huge brick stove. Many 
of the cottages in this part of Hungary have 
but one room, but Aszszony Semeyer was 
rich and she had two rooms and a loft 
above. She kept the house wonderfully 
clean, yet she always seemed to have plenty 
of time to sit at the window and embroider 
varrotas. The varrotas are Hungarian em- 
broideries worked with red and black and 
blue threads upon linen cloth the colour of 
pale ochre. The thread and linen is woven 
by the women, and in nearly every cottage 
in the village some one may be seen seated 
at the window spinning, weaving, or em- 
broidering. 

Aszszony Semeyer’s father had been one 
of the heres^ employed by the Tablabiroy^ 
and he had been able to leave his daughter, 
for he had no sons, a cottage and some 
money, so that she was better off than many 


Labourers employed by the year. 


2 Lord of the estate. 


58 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

of the village people. This did not keep 
her from working hard, for all Magyars 
are industrious and hard working. She 
did not intend that any one under her care 
should be idle; and Banda Bela found that 
he and Marushka must work if they were 
to eat. 

‘‘Now then, my sugars,” she said to them, 
“we shall see what there is for you to do! 
Some work there must be for one and the 
other. But a square pane will not fit a 
round window, so we must give you some- 
thing that you can do out of doors. You, 
Banda Bela, shall go to help the swine- 
herd, and Marushka shall be goose girl.” 

“Oh, I should like that!” cried Ma- 
rushka. “I think the geese are so funny 
and I like to see them eat.” 

“You shall learn to embroider, and, as 
you sit on the meadow watching the geese, 
you can place many stitches. When you 



WASHING IN THE RIVER 


I*'! 



W*. V * 

* r-; 


' 


1 ; •- 

., MlV'- 



The Fair of Harom-Szolohoz 59 

marry you will have whole chests full of 
embroideries, like any well brought up 
maiden. Otherwise you will be shamed 
before your husband’s people. 

‘‘Banda Bela, you shall go with the 
swine-herd. That will keep you out of 
doors, and you will like that, I am 
sure.” 

“I will try,” said Banda Bela. “But I 
have never worked.” 

“Quite time you learned, then,” said 
the good woman. “We will start in the 
morning. To-day you and Marushka may 
go about the village and make yourselves 
at home. You will find much to interest 
you. Come back when the big bell of the 
church rings. That will be dinner time.” 

“Oh, Banda Bela, see those people 
jumping up and down in the river!” said 
Marushka. “What are they doing?” 

“Washing, I think,” said Banda Bela. 


6o Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘^See, they take a dress or an apron and 
put it in the stream and tread on it, stamp- 
ing it against the stones until the dirt all 
comes out, then they rinse it out and put 
it in their wooden trays and take another 
piece and wash it” 

thought the wooden trays were cradles 
for babies,’’ said Marushka. ‘^The Gyp- 
sies use them for that.” 

‘‘Yes, but I have seen them used for 
many things,” said Banda Bela. “The 
peasants carry goods to market in them; in 
the city the baker boys use them to carry 
bread, washwomen use them, and cooks 
use them to cut up meat for goulash or to 
chop paprika in.” 

“Banda Bela, we’re coming to such a 
crowded place, — what are all those people 
doing?” ^sked Marushka, pointing to a 
street which was crowded to overflowing 
with peasants, their white costumes and 


The Fair of Harom-Szolohoz 6i 

gay aprons and jackets flashing about like 
bright birds in the sunlight. 

‘Tt must be a market day/’ said the 
boy. ‘T have often seen the village mar- 
kets when I was travelling with my father. 
It might be fair time, and that is great 
fun! Let us go and see, Marushka. They 
have lots of pretty things in the stalls.” 

The two children ran down the street, 
which was filled with carts, covered with 
gay-coloured cloths, the horses having been 
taken out and stabled elsewhere. 

Stalls had been built up and down the 
sides of the street and these were filled with 
fruit, melons, embroidery, clothes, and won- 
derful crockery. Plates and jugs in gay 
colours and artistic designs have been made 
by the peasants in this part of Hungary 
for hundreds of years, and in the cottages 
one can see, hung along the walls under 
the rafters, jugs, cups, and platters of great 


62 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

beauty. No peasant would part with his 
family china, as he would feel disgraced 
unless he could display it up on his walls. 

Ox carts lumbered down the streets, the 
huge horns of the oxen frightening Ma- 
rushka. Boys with huge hats, loose white 
shirts, and trousers above the ankles, bare- 
footed girls and girls in top boots, men and 
women, geese, pigs, horses, and cows, all 
crowded into the square, where were the 
church with its white spire and golden 
cross, the magistrate’s house, and the inn 
named ‘‘Harom Szdlohoz” as its three 
bunches of grapes above the door showed. 

‘"Banda Bela,” said Marushka, “what 
are those women sitting behind those 
red and yellow pots for? They look so 
funny with the great flat hats on their 
heads.” 

“They are cooking,” said Banda Bela. 
“I have seen these village fairs when I 


The Fair of Harom-Szolohoz 63 

used to travel with my father. In the bot- 
tom of those pots is burning charcoal upon 
which a dish is set. In the dish they cook 
all kinds of things, frying meat in bacon 
fat, making goulash and anything else a 
customer may want.” 

‘Tsn’t that funny!” said Marushka, 
whose idea of cookery was the Gypsy fire- 
pot over a fire of sticks. ‘‘What lovely 
frocks the girls wear! I like those boots 
with the bright red tops, too, — I wish I 
had some,” and she looked down discon- 
tentedly at her ten little bare toes. Banda 
Bela laughed at her. 

“You’re a funny little bit of a Marushka,” 
he said. “Yesterday you hadn’t a frock 
to your name, only a little rag of a shirt, 
and you were all dirty and your hair had 
never been combed. Now you have a 
pretty dress and an embroidered apron, 
and hair like a high-born princess, yet you 


64 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

are not satisfied, but must have top boots! 
They would pinch and hurt your feet ter- 
ribly and cramp your toes so that you 
couldn’t wiggle them at all. After you had 
worn boots awhile your toes would get so 
stiff that you couldn’t use them as fingers 
as we do. People who always wear boots 
cannot even pick up anything with their 
toes. If they want a stick or anything that 
has fallen to the ground they have to bend 
the back and stoop to pick it up with the 
fingers.” 

Marushka looked thoughtful for a mo- 
ment, her little toes curling and wriggling 
as she dug them into the sand, then she 
said: 

“But the boots are so pretty, Banda 
Bela, I would like them!” The boy 
laughed. 

“You will have to have them someway, 
little sister,” he said. “And one of those 


The Fair of Harom-Szolohoz 65 

bright little jackets, too, since you so much 
like to be dressed up like a fine bird.’’ 

‘‘Why do some of the women wear jackets 
and some not, and some of them such 
queer things on their heads?” asked Ma- 
rushka. 

“This fair brings people from all around 
and there are many kinds of people in Hun- 
gary,” he said. “Those tall straight men 
with faces all shaved except for the waxed 
moustache are Magyars, while the fair- 
haired fellows who look as if they didn’t 
care about their clothes and slouch around 
are called Slovaks. The girls who wear 
those long, embroidered, white robes, san- 
dals on their feet and black kerchiefs on 
their heads, are Roumanians. The Magyar 
girls wear gold-embroidered aprons, big 
white sleeves and zouave jackets, and the 
boots you like so much.” 

“I am a Magyar,” said Marushka, toss- 


66 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

ing her head proudly. “All but the 
boots.’" 

“High-born Princess, boots you shall 
have,” laughed Banda Bela. “But how?” 
He knit his brows, as they stopped at a 
stall where boots were displayed for sale. 
“I know!” he cried, while Marushka 
looked longingly at the boots. “I shall 
play for them.” 

His violin was under his arm, and he 
raised it to his chin, tuned it softly, and 
quickly began a little tune. Hungarians 
love music and it was but a moment before 
a crowd gathered around. He played a 
gay little song, ^^Nezz roysam a szememhey^ 
one of the old Magyar love songs in which 
a lover implores his sweetheart to look into 
his eyes and read there that for him she 
shines like a star in the blue of heaven, 
and when he had finished everyone cried 
for more. This time he whisked into a 


The Fair of Harom-Szolohoz 67 

dance tune and feet patted in time to the 
music and faces were fairly wreathed in 
smiles. When he stopped with a gay 
flourish, everybody cried, ‘‘More, boy, 
more!” and Banda Bela smiled happily 
as one in the crowd tossed him a krajczar} 
He took off his cap and passed it around 
among the crowd. Many a krajczar fell into 
it and one silver piece came from a Magyar 
officer, a tall fine-looking man with a sad 
face, who stood on the edge of the crowd. 

“Who are you, boy, and why do you 
play? Do you need money?” asked the 
officer. 

“Not for myself. Your Gracious High- 
ness, but the little one wishes red-topped 
boots and also a jacket,” said the boy 
simply. 

“These of course she must have,” said 
the officer, with a smile which lighted up 


Small coin. 


68 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

his sad face. ‘‘Where is this little sister 
of yours? At home with her mother?’’ 

“No, Most High-Born Baron,” said 
Banda Bela. “The mother I have not, 
but Aszszony Semeyer is very kind to us, 
and Marushka is here with me. That 
little maid by the cooking stall.” 

“She is a fair little maid, of course she 
must have her boots,” said the officer. 
“But you have earned them, for your music 
is like wine to empty hearts. What is 
your name, boy, and where do you live ? ” 
“My name is Banda Bela, Most Gracious 
Baron. I live since yesterday at the house 
of Emeric Semeyer. My father was 
Gergeley Banda, the musician, now dead.” 

“I have often seen and heard your father 
in Buda-Pest,” said the officer kindly, 
laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder. 
“You will play as well as he did if you 
keep on.” 


The Fair of Harom-Szolohoz 69 

Banda Bela’s eyes shone. 

‘‘That would please me more than any- 
thing else in all the world,” he said. “I 
think now I have enough for Marushka’s 
boots, so I need not play more, save one 
thing for the pleasure of those who have 
paid me. I will play a song of my fathers,” 
and he played a gentle little melody, with a 
sad, haunting strain running through it, 
which brought tears to the eyes. 

“Boy, you are a genius! What is that 
asked the baron when he had finished. 

“It is called the ‘Lost One,’ ” said Banda 
Bela. “The little song running through 
it is of a child who has been lost from home. 
The words are: 

“ The hills are so blue, 

The sun so warm, 

The wind of the moor so soft and so kind! 

Oh, the eyes of my mother. 

The warmth of her breast. 

The breath of her kiss on my cheek, alas! 


70 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

The officer put a whole silver dollar in 
the boy’s hand and turned away without 
a word, and Banda Bela wondered as he 
saw tears in the stern eyes. 

Then Marushka got her boots and her 
jacket and Banda Bela bought some new 
strings for his violin, and a little box of 
sugar jelly which he took to Aszszony 
Semeyer, and to her also he gave the store 
of krajczar left after his purchases had 
been made. 


CHAPTER VI 


VILLAGE LIFE 

Banda Bela found life with the pigs 
rather quiet in spite of the noise his four- 
footed friends made, but he soon learned to 
know all the pigs by name and to like them, 
dirty as they were, but he never grew fond 
of them as Marushka did of the village 
geese. These followed her like a great 
white army, as she led them beside the river. 
They seemed to understand every word 
she said and would squawk in answer to 
her call, and come with flapping wings 
across the field, whenever she spoke to 
them. 

So, too, would the storks who nested in 
the eaves of the houses, and it was a funny 


72 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

sight to see the long-legged, top-heavy 
birds stalking around after Marushka, until 
she gave them bits of her black bread, 
when they would spread their great wings 
and fly off contentedly to their nestlings in 
the eaves. 

Marushka’s hours at home were quite as 
busy as those she spent with the geese, for 
Aszszony Semeyer was a noted house- 
keeper and did not intend that any little 
girl under her care should grow up with- 
out learning to do housework. Marushka 
learned to embroider, to sew, to mend, to 
clean the floors and to cook. She was an 
apt pupil and it was not long before she 
could cook even turoscsusza as well as her 
teacher. Turoscsusza is not easy to make. 
First one mixes a paste of rye and barley 
meal, stirred up with salt and water. This 
is rolled out thin and cut into little squares 
which are dropped quickly into boiling 


73 


Village Life 

water, then taken out, drained and put 
into a hot frying pan, with some curds and 
fried bacon, and cooked over a hot fire. 
It takes practice to know just how long it 
must be cooked to make it to perfection, 
and Marushka felt very much encouraged 
when Aszszony Semeyer said to her at last: 

‘‘You can make it just as well as I can, 
child. ’’ The little girl knew that no higher 
compliment could be paid her. 

At Christmas time she learned to make 
the hazehnut cakes which are so deliciously 
good, and she and Banda Bela enjoyed the 
Christmas tree, the first they had ever 
seen, and which is found in every peasant 
household in Hungary. In the poorer cot- 
tages it is often but a little fir branch deco- 
rated with bits of coloured tissue paper and 
a few candles, but Aszszony Semeyer had 
a large tree, with all sorts of decorations 
and presents for the children, who got up 


74 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

at five o’clock to see them, though Ma- 
rushka was very sleepy, for she had stayed 
up for the midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. 
Banda Bela had first helped Aszszony Se- 
meyer “strew the straw,” one of the quaint 
Christmas customs in this part of Hun- 
gary, where the peasants strew fresh straw 
upon the floor and sit upon it to insure their 
hens laying plenty of eggs during the 
coming year. He also made up the “plenty 
brush,” taking an onion for Aszszony 
Semeyer, Marushka, and himself, with 
little bundles of hay and barley ears tied 
with scarlet ribbon and laid upon the table. 
This will be sure to bring plenty of onions, 
hay, and barley to the house during the 
year. 

In order to keep off fire Banda Bela and 
Marushka had each taken some beans on 
a plate and raced all around the szvobay^ 


^ Room. 


75 


Village Life 

touching the wall with the plate, and they 
had given the pigs and the geese bits of salt 
to bring them good luck. 

Thus the winter passed busily and pleas- 
antly for the two children. They lived 
on simple but hearty fare. For breakfast 
there was czibere^ made by steeping black 
bread in water for three weeks until it 
soured, and making this into soup by 
adding beaten eggs and sheep’s milk. For 
dinner they had often goulash or turoscsusza 
with vegetables or bread. 

Marushka learned also to boil soap, to 
make candles, dry prunes, and smoke sau- 
sages. She helped to cure the hams, cry- 
ing bitterly over the death of Banda Bela’s 
little piggies. She churned and made 
cheese, much of which was stored up for 
winter use, as were also many of the vege- 
tables from the little garden, which Banda 
Bela weeded and cared for. 


76 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

Both children helped to make the sli- 
vovitza, or plum brandy, of which every 
Hungarian household must have some, and 
which is very good to drink. 

Right after Easter the children were 
invited to a wedding, and as Banda Bela 
was to play for the czardas, Marushka was 
delighted. 

One of the neighbours, just at the end 
of the village, had several elado leanydk,^ 
called this because in Hungary a bride- 
groom must pay his father-in-law a good 
price if he wishes a wife. Sometimes a 
peasant pays only twenty florins for his 
wife, but sometimes he has to pay as much 
as two hundred florins. 

The day before Irma’s marriage, Lajos, 
the best man, came to the door of Aszszony 
Semeyer’s cottage. Bowing and taking off 
his hat, he said: 


Salable daughters. 


77 


Village Life 

‘‘Most humbly do I beg your pardon for 
my intrusion under your roof, but I am 
deputed to politely invite you and your 
family to partake of a morsel of food and 
drink a glass of wine, and to dance a meas- 
ure thereafter on the occasion of the wed- 
ding feast of the seed that has grown up 
under their wings. Please bring with you 
knives, forks, and plates.’’ 

Aszszony Semeyer accepted the invita- 
tion, and as Somogyi Irma was a Slovak 
girl, the marriage ceremonies were very 
different from those which a Magyar 
maiden would have had. 

The Slovak wedding is all arranged for 
by the best man. Of course the young 
people have been lovers for some time and 
have plighted their troth through the win- 
dow on a moonlight night, but no one is 
supposed to know about that. The lover 
and his friend, who is called the staro sta, 


78 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

on a Saturday night go to the door of the 
lady’s cottage and say: 

‘‘Good friends, we have lost our way. 
In the king’s behalf we seek a star.” At 
this the girl hastily leaves the room and 
the staro sta exclaims: 

“Behold! There is the star for which 
we seek. May we go and seek her? We 
have flowers with us to deck her, flowers 
fair as those which Adam bound upon the 
brow of Eve in the Garden.” 

“I will call her back,” says the bride’s 
father, and the girl returns to smilingly 
accept the staro sta' s flowers, and his offer 
of marriage for his friend. The flowers are 
distributed, speeches are made, and every- 
body drinks the health of the betrothed 
pair in slivovitza, binding their hands 
together with a handkerchief. 

The night before the wedding there is a 
cake dance, when the czardas is danced, the 


79 


Village Life 

wedding cake is displayed, and everybody 
cries, laughs, and puts a bit of money into 
a plate to help toward the wedding expenses, 
for the wedding feast must last two days, 
and it costs a great deal of money. 

Irma’s feast was very fine, for her father 
was village magistrate and could afford 
to make her marriage quite a social event. 
Even the High-Born Baron and Baroness 
from the great house came, and Marushka 
was delighted to see them, for she had 
heard the little peasant girls tell how kind 
the Baron was, and how beautiful his wife. 

The High-Born Baron danced the czardas 
with the bride and the High-Born Baroness 
trod the measures with the bridegroom, 
and Marushka could hardly keep her eyes 
off the Baroness. Her eyes were soft and 
brown, her teeth white as little pearls, her 
complexion a soft olive with rose-hued 
cheeks, her hair blue-black, soft and fine. 


8o Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

waving about her face and piled high with 
roses at each side above her ears. Her 
dress was of brocaded silk, the bodice 
trimmed with pearls, the large sleeves 
filmy with laces almost as fine as those she 
might have worn to court. Hungarian 
women love fine clothes and dress beautifully 
and the High-Born Baroness wished to pay 
honor to Somogyi Vazul, for he had served 
the Baron’s house and his father’s before him. 

The Baron wore his handsomest uniform, 
top boots, embroidered coat and mag- 
nificent cloak, trimmed in gold braid and 
buttons, and it was a proud moment in 
Irma’s life when he put his hand upon her 
elbow and led her out to dance the quaint 
dance of the Hungarians, with its slow 
movement gradually growing faster and 
faster until it ends in a regular whirl. 

Banda Bela played his best and the 
czardas of Irma’s wedding was long talked 


Village Life 8i 

of in the village as the most beautiful 
which had ever been danced. Then the 
High-Born Baron spoke to his wife and 
she smiled and nodded her head and asked 
Banda Bela if he could play the accompani- 
ment to any of the folk-songs. 

“Yes, Your Graciousness,’’ he answered, 
“to any one of them.” 

“Then I will sing for you,” said the 
Baroness, and a rustle of expectancy went 
round the [szvoha^ for it was well known 
in the village that the High-Born Gra- 
ciousness was a famous singer and had 
often been asked to sing to the King. She 
sang the little folk-song which every Hun- 
garian knows. 

‘‘ How late the summer stars arise! 

My love for thee was late in rising too. 

But what of that, or aught, to me ? 

Why is thy glance so icy cold ? 

My heart burns hot with love for thee! 

Her voice was tender and sad like that 


82 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

of all the Magyar women, and Marushka 
thought she had never heard anything so 
beautiful as the song to which Banda Bela’s 
notes added a perfect accompaniment. 

Then the wedding cakes were passed 
about, and the little girl had her full share. 
Banda Bela rejoiced in the present of a 
silver piece from the Baron. 

“Who is this child?” demanded the 
Baroness, attracted by Marushka’s fair 
hair amidst the dark-haired little Mag- 
yars and Slovaks. 

“A little one adopted by Aszszony Se- 
meyer,” replied the magistrate, “as is also 
the Gypsy boy who played for you.” 

“She does not look like a Gypsy child,” 
said the Baroness, knitting her brows a 
little. “She reminds me of some one I 
have seen — ” as Marushka smiled up at 
her and made her a quaint little peasant’s 
courtesy with more than peasant’s grace. 



“ ‘who is this child ?’ DEMANDED THE BARONESS 








CHAPTER VII 


THE UNEXPECTED 

Aszszony Semeyer’s brother-in-law had 

a large vineyard and, when it came time for 

the vintage, the good woman drove the 

children over to her brother’s farm. The 

grapes grew in long lines up and down 

the hillside where the sun was strongest. 

White carts, drawn by white oxen, were 

driven by white-frocked peasants. All were 

decked with grape leaves, all had eaten 

golden grapes until they could eat no 

more, for the great bunches of rich, yellow 

grapes are free to all at vintage time. From 

these golden grapes is made the amber- 

hued “Riesling,” and the children enjoyed 

very much helping to tread the grapes, 

for the wine is made in the old-fashioned 
83 


84 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

way, the grapes being cast into huge vats 
and trod upon with the feet till the juice is 
entirely ptessed out. The peasants dance 
gaily up and down upon the grapes, tossing 
their arms above their heads and making 
great pleasure of their work. 

After the long, happy, sunny day the 
white cart of Aszszony Semeyer joined 
the line of carts which wound along from 
the vineyard, filled with gay toilers. At her 
brother’s farm they stayed all night, for 
the vintage dance upon the grass under 
the golden glow of the harvest moon was 
too fair a sight to miss. 

They stayed, too, for the nut-gathering. 
Hungarian hazel nuts are celebrated the 
world over, and the nutting was as much a 
fete as had been the vintage. This was the 
last frolic of the year, and the children 
went back to Harom Szolohoz to work hard 
all winter. Banda Bela still helped the 


The Unexpected 85 

swine-herd, but Marushka was no longer a 
goose girl. Aszszony Semeyer had grown 
very fond of the little girl and spent long 
hours teaching her to sew and embroider. 
Many salt tears little Marushka shed over 
her Himmelbelty or marriage bed-cover. 
Every girl in Hungary is supposed to have 
a fine linen bedspread embroidered ready 
to take to her home when she is married. 
It takes many months to make one of them, 
and Marushka’s was to be a very elaborate 
one. 

The linen was coarse, but spun from their 
own flax by Aszszony Semeyer herself. 
In design Marushka’s Himmelbelt was won- 
derful. The edge was to be heavily em- 
broidered in colours, and in one corner was 
Marushka’s name, a space being left for 
the day of the wedding. In the centre 
was a wedding hymn which was embroi- 
dered in gay letters, and began: 


86 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

“ Blessed by the Saints and God above I’ll be 

If I do wed the man who loveth me; 

Then may my home be full of peace and rest, 

And I with goodly sons and daughters blest!” 

Marushka worked over it for hours and 
grew to fairly hate the thought of marrying. 

‘‘I shall never, never marry,” she sobbed. 
“I shall never finish this horrid old Him- 
melbelt and I suppose I can’t be married 
without it.” 

Banda Bela sympathized with her and 
often played for her while she worked. 
Through the long winter the children 
learned to read and write, for all children 
are compelled to go to school in Hungary, 
and the Gypsies are the only ones who 
escape the school room. 

Marushka learned very fast. Her mind 
worked far more quickly than did Banda 
Bela’s, though he was so much older. 
There was nothing which Marushka did 
not want to know all about; earth, air, 


The Unexpected 87 

sky, water, sun, wind, people, — all were 
interesting to her. 

‘‘The wind, Banda Bela, whence comes 
it?’’ she would ask. 

“It is the breath of God,” the boy would 
answer. 

“And the sun?” 

“It is God’s kindness.” 

“But the storms, with the flashing light- 
ning and the terrible thunder ? ” 

“It is the wrath of Isten, the flash of his 
eye, the sound of his voice.” 

“But I like to know what makes the 
things,” said Marushka. “It is not enough 
to say that everything is God. I know He 
is back of everything. Aszszony Semeyer 
told me that, but I want to know the how 
of what He does.” 

“I think we cannot always do just what 
we like,” said Banda Bela calmly. “I 
have found that out many times, so it is 


88 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

best not to fret about things but to live 
each day by itself/’ At this philosophy 
Marushka pouted. 

One afternoon in the summer the chil- 
dren asked for permission to go to the 
woods, and Aszszony Semeyer answered 
them: 

‘‘Yes, my pigeons, go; the sky is fair 
and you have both been good children of 
late, — go, but return early. 

They had a happy afternoon playing 
together upon the hills which were so blue 
with forget-me-nots that one could hardly 
see where the hilltops met the sky. Ma- 
rushka made a wreath of them and Banda 
Bela crowned her, twining long festoons of 
the flowers around her neck and waist, 
until she looked like a little flower fairy. 
They wandered homeward as the sun was 
setting, past the great house on the hill, and 
Maruskha said: 


The Unexpected 89 

‘T wonder if the High-Born Baron and 
his gracious lady will soon be coming 
home ? In the village they say that they 
always come at this time of the year. Do 
you remember how beautiful the High- 
Born Baroness looked at Irma’s wedding?” 

“She was beautiful and kind, and sang 
like a nightingale,” said Banda Bela. 
“Come, Marushka, we must hurry, or 
Aszszony Semeyer will scold us for being 
late!” 

As they neared the village they heard a 
noise and a strange scene met their gaze! 
A yoke of w'hite oxen blocked the way; sev- 
eral black and brown cattle had slipped 
their halters and were running aimlessly 
about tossing their horns; seventeen hairy 
pigs ran hither and thither, squealing 
loudly, and all the geese in town seemed to 
be turned loose, flapping their wings and 
squawking at the top of their voices. Chil- 


go Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

dren were dashing around, shouting and 
screaming, in their efforts to catch the dif- 
ferent animals, while the grown people, 
scarcely less disturbed, tried in vain to 
silence the din. 

“They are frightened by the machine of 
the High-Born Baron, Marushka,’’ said 
Banda Bela. “See, there it is at the end 
of the street. I have seen these queer cars 
in Buda-Pest, but none has ever been in 
this little village before, so it is no wonder 
that everyone is afraid. There, the men 
have the cattle quiet, but the geese and the 
pigs are as bad as ever.” 

“Let us run and lead them out, Banda 
Bela,” cried Marushka. “You can make 
the pigs follow you and I can quiet the 
geese. It is too bad to have the home-com- 
ing of their High-Born Graciousnesses 
spoiled by these stupids!” Marushka 
dashed into the throng of geese calling to 


The Unexpected 91 

them In soft little tones. They recognized 
her at once and stopped their fluttering 
as she called them by the names she had 
given them when she was goose girl and 
they all flocked about her. Then she sang 
a queer little crooning song, and they fol- 
lowed her down the street as she walked 
toward the goose green, not knowing how 
else to get them out of the way. 

Banda Bela meantime was having an 
amusing time with his friends the pigs. 
They were all squealing so loudly that they 
could scarcely hear his voice, so he be- 
thought himself of his music and began to 
play. It was but a few moments before 
the piggies heard and stopped to listen. 
Banda Bela had played much when he 
was watching the pigs on the moor, and 
his violin told them of the fair green meadow 
where they found such good things to eat, 
and of the river’s brink with its great pools 


92 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

of black slime in which to wallow. They 
stopped their mad dashing about and gath- 
ered around the boy, and he, too, turned 
and led them from the village. 

It was a funny sight, this village proces- 
sion. First came Marushka in her little 
peasant’s costume, decked with her wreath 
and garlands of forget-me-nots, and fol- 
lowed by her snow-white geese. Next, 
Banda Bela, playing his violin and escort- 
ing his pigs, while last of all came the motor 
car of the High-Born Baron, the Baron 
looking amused, the Baroness in spasms 
of laughter. 

“Oh, Leon,” she cried. “Could our 
friends who drive on the Os Budavara ‘ see 
us now! Such a procession! That child who 
leads is the most beautiful litte creature 
and so unconscious, and the boy’s playing 
is wonderful.” 


1 Celebrated drive in Buda-Pest. 


/ 



iC 


9f 


FIRST CAME MARUSHKA 




The Unexpected 93 

“They must be the Gypsy children Aszs- 
zony Semeyer adopted. We saw them when 
we were here last year/' replied her hus- 
band. “What a story this would make for 
the club! We must give these children a 
florin for their timely aid." 

But the children, unconscious of this 
pleasant prospect, led their respective friends 
back into the village by another way, so 
that it was not until the next day that the 
‘‘ High-Born " ones had a chance to see them, 
and this time in an even more exciting ad- 
venture than that of the village procession. 
It was the motor car again which caused 
the trouble. 

Marushka and Banda Bela had been 
sent on an errand to a farm not far from 
the village and were walking homeward in 
the twilight. Down the road came a peas- 
ant's cart just as from the opposite direc- 
tion came the “honk-honk" of the Baron’s 


94 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

motor. Such a sight had never appeared 
to the horses before in all their lives. They 
reared up on their hind legs, pawing the 
air wildly as the driver tried to turn them 
aside to let the motor pass. A woman and 
a baby sat in the cart, and, as the horses 
became unnianageable and overturned the 
cart into the ditch, the woman was thrown 
out and the baby rolled from her arms 
right in front of the motor. The mechani- 
cian had tried to stop his car, but there was 
something wrong with the brake and he 
could not stop all at once. Marushka saw 
the baby. If there was one thing she 
loved more than another it was a baby. 
She saw its danger and in a second she 
dashed across the road, snatched up the 
little one and ran up the other side of the 
road just as the motor passed over the spot 
where the baby had fallen. 

“Marushka,’' cried Banda Bela as 


The Unexpected 95 

he ran around the motor. “Are you 
hurt?’’ 

“Brave child!” cried the Baron, who 
sprang from his car and hurried to the 
group of frightened peasants. “Are you 
injured ?” 

“Not at all, Most Noble Baron,” said 
Marushka, not forgetting to make her 
courtesy, though it was not easy with the 
baby in her arms. 

The child’s mother had by this time 
picked herself out of the ditch and rushed 
over to where Maruskha stood, the baby 
stiir in her arms and cooing delightedly as 
he looked into the child’s sweet face, his 
tiny hand clutching the silver medal which 
always hung about Marushka’s neck. The 
mother snatched the baby to her breast 
and, seating herself by the roadside, she felt 
all over its little body to see if it was hurt. 

“You have this brave little girl to thank 


96 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

that your baby was not killed/’ said the 
Baron. The woman turned to Marushka. 

"‘I thank you for — ” she began, stopped 
abruptly, and then stared at the little girl 
with an expression of amazement. ‘‘Child, 
who are you?” she demanded. 

“Marushka,” said the little girl simply. 
The woman put her hand to her head. 

“It is her image,” she muttered. “Her 
very self!” 

The Baroness had alighted from the 
motor and came up in time to hear the 
woman’s words. 

“Whose image ?” she demanded sharply. 

The woman changed colour and put her 
baby down on the grass. 

“The little girl looks like a child I saw 
in America,” she stammered, her face 
flushing. 

“Was she an American child ?” demanded 
the Baroness. 


The Unexpected 97 

‘^Oh, yes, Your Graciousness,’’ said the 
woman hastily. course, she was an 

American child.” 

‘‘Now I know that you are speaking 
falsely,” said the Baroness. “This little 
one looks like no American child who was 
ever born. Leon,” turning to her husband, 
“is this one of your peasants?” Then 
she added in a tone too low to be heard by 
anyone but her husband, “I know that she 
can tell something about this little girl. 
Question her.” 

The Baron turned to the woman and 
said: 

“This little girl saved your baby’s life. 
Should you not do her some kindness?” 

“What could I do for her. Your High- 
Born Graciousness?” the woman asked. 

“That I leave to your good heart.” 
The Baron had not dwelt upon his estates 
and managed his peasants for years with- 


98 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

out knowing peasant character. Threats 
would not move this woman, that he saw 
in a moment. 

‘‘She is a Gypsy child,’’ the woman said 
sullenly. 

Banda Bela spoke suddenly, for he had 
come close and heard what was said. 

“That she is not! She is Magyar. De- 
serted by the roadside, she was cared for 
by Gypsy folk. Does she look like a 
Gypsy ? Would a Gypsy child wear a 
Christian medal upon her breast?” The 
boy’s tone was sharp. Marushka heard 
nothing. She was playing with the baby. 

The woman looked from Marushka to 
the baby, then at the Baron, hesitating. 
“Let me see your pretty medal, child,” 
she said at length, and Marushka untied 
the string and put the medal in the woman’s 
hand. 

“I used to think it was my mother, but 


The Unexpected 99 

now I know it is Our Lady/’ said Marushka 
gently. The woman looked at it for a 
moment, then gave it back to the little girl 
and stood for a moment thinking. 

“High-Born Baron,” she said at last, 
“I will speak. Those it might harm are 
dead. The little girl who saved my baby 
I will gladly serve, but I will speak alone 
to the ears of the Baron and his gracious 
lady.” 

“Very well,” said the Baron as he led 
the woman aside. 

“Skultety Yda is my name. Your Gra- 
ciousness,” she said. “I was foster-sister 
to a high-born lady in the Province in 
which lies Buda-Pest. I loved my mistress 
and after her marriage I went with her to 
the home of her husband, a country 
place on the Danube. There I met 
Hodza Ludevit, who wished to marry 
me and take me to America, for which he 


lOO Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

had long saved the money. He hated all 
nobles and most of all the High-Born 
Count, because the Count had once struck 
him with his riding whip. Then the Coun- 
tess’ little daughter came and I loved her 
so dearly that I said that I would never 
part from her. Ludevit waited for me two 
years, then he grew angry and said, ‘To 
America I will go with or without you.’ 
Then he stole the little baby and sent me 
word that he would return her only on 
condition that I go at once to America with 
him. To save the little golden-haired baby 
I followed him beyond the sea to America. 
He swore to me that he had returned little 
Marushka to her parents. 

“The Count traced us to America think- 
ing we might have taken the child with us, 
and then I learned that the baby had never 
been sent home. My wicked husband had 
left it by the roadside and what had become 


The Unexpected loi 

of it no one knew. It turned my heart 
toward my husband into stone. Now he 
is dead and I have brought my own baby 
home, but my family are all dead and I 
have no place to go. These people were 
kind to me on the ship, so I came to them, 
hoping to find work to care for my baby, 
since all my money was spent in the coming 
home. This little girl who saved my baby 
I know to be the daughter of my dear mis- 
tress.’’ She stopped. 

‘‘How do you know it?” demanded the 
Baroness. 

“Your High-Born Graciousness, she is 
her image. There is the same corn-coloured 
hair, the same blue eyes, the same flushed 
cheek, the same proud mouth, the same 
sweet voice.” 

“What was the name of your lady?” 
interrupted the baroness, who had been 
looking fixedly at Marushka, knitting her 


102 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

brows. “The child has always reminded 
me of someone; who it is I cannot think.” 

“The foster sister whom I loved was the 
Countess Maria Andrassy.” 

“I see it,” cried the Baroness. “The 
child is her image, Leon. I have her pic- 
ture at the castle. You will see at once the 
resemblance. I have not seen Maria since 
we left school. Her husband we see often 
at Court. I had heard that Maria had 
lost her child and that since she had never 
left her country home. I supposed the 
child was dead. This little Marushka must 
be Maria Andrassy.” 

“We must have proofs,” said the Baron. 

“Behold the medal upon the child’s 
neck,” said Yda. “It is one her mother 
placed there. I myself scratched with a 
needle the child’s initials ‘M. A.’ the same 
as her mother’s. The letters are still 
there; and if that is not enough there is on 


The Unexpected 103 

the child’s neck the same red mark as when 
she was born. It is up under her hair 
and her mother would know it at once.” 

‘‘The only way is for her mother to see 
her and she will know. This Gypsy boy 
may be able to supply some missing links. 
We shall ask him,” said the Baron. When 
Banda Bela was called he told simply 
all that he knew about Marushka and all 
that old Jarnik had told him. 

“There is no harm coming to her, is 
there ? ” he asked anxiously, and the Baron- 
ess said kindly: 

“No, my boy, no harm at all, and per- 
haps much good, for we think that we have 
found her people.” Banda Bela’s face 
clouded. “That would make you sad?” 
she asked. 

“Yes and no. Your Graciousness,” he 
answered. “It would take my heart away 
to lose Marushka for whom I have cared 


104 Little Hungarian Cousin 

these years as my sister, but I know so well 
the sadness of having no mother. If she 
can find her mother, I shall rejoice.’’ 

‘"Something good shall be found for you, 
too, my lad.” The Baroness smiled at him, 
but he replied simply: 

“I thank Your High-Born Graciousness. 
I shall still have my music.” 

The Baroness flashed a quick glance at 
him. “I understand you, boy; nothing 
can take that away from one who loves 
it. Now take the little one home, and 
to-morrow we shall come to see Aszszony 
Semeyer about her. In the meantime, say 
not one word to the little girl for fear she 
be disappointed if we have made a mis- 
take.” 

“Yes, Your High-Born Graciousness,” 
and Banda Bela led Marushka away, 
playing as they went down the hill the 
little song of his father. 


The Unexpected 

“ The hills are so blue, 

The sun so warm, 

The wind of the moor so soft and so kind! 
Oh, the eyes of my mother. 

The warmth of her breast, 

The breath of her kiss on my cheek, alas! * 


105 


CHAPTER VIII 


MARUSHKA MAKES A JOURNEY 

Marushka was so excited that she 
scarce knew how to contain herself. The 
Baroness had come to see Aszszony Semeyer 
and had talked long with her. Then she 
had called Marushka and the little girl 
saw that Aszszony Semeyer had been 
crying. 

^‘Marushka/’ the Baroness said. ‘"Will 
you come with me and make a journey? 
I want to take you in the motor to Buda- 
pest.’’ 

“The High-Born Baroness is very 
good,” said Marushka, her eyes shin- 
ing. “I should like to go very much, 
but not if Aszszony Semeyer does not 
wish it.” 

106 


Marushka Makes a Journey 107 

‘‘Good child/’ said Aszszony Semeyer, 
“I do wish it.” 

“Then why do you cry?” 

“There are many things to make old 
people cry,” said the peasant woman. “I 
am certainly not crying because the High- 
Born Graciousness wishes to honour you 
with so pleasant a journey — (that is the 
truth, for it is the fear that she will not 
come back that forces the tears from my 
eyes,” she added to herself). 

“Aszszony Semeyer will have Banda 
Bela,” said the Baroness. Marushka 
opened her eyes very wide. 

“Oh, no. Your Graciousness, because 
Banda Bela must go wherever I go. If 
he stays at home, then I must stay, too.” 

“Such a child!” exclaimed Aszszony 
Semeyer. “She has always been like this 
about Banda Bela. The two will not be 
separated.” 


io8 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘"In that case we shall have to take 
Banda Bela also/^ said the Baroness, and 
Marushka clapped her hands with glee. 

“That will be nice,’’ she exclaimed. 
shall love to see the city and all the beauti- 
ful palaces, and I shall bring you a present, 
Aszszony Semeyer, but I will not go unless 
you wish me to.” 

“I do wish it, dear child, but do not for- 
get you old aunt,” for so she had taught the 
children to call her. 

So it was decided that they should start 
the next week when the Baron’s business 
would have been attended to. 

Part of Marushka’s journey was to be 
taken in the motor, and, as she had never 
ridden in one before, she was very much 
excited as they set out on a bright day in 
August. She wanted to sit beside Banda 
Bela with the driver, but the Baroness 
said, “No, it would not be proper for a 


Marushka Makes a Journey 109 

little girl/^ So she had to be satisfied with 
sitting between the Baron and Baroness 
on the back seat. 

Up hill and down dale they rode. The 
road at times was so poor that the wheels 
wedged in the ruts and all had to get out 
while the driver pushed from behind. 

They ate their luncheon at a ruined castle 
which had once been a beautiful country 
place. It belonged to a friend of the Baron 
but had been deserted for many years. 
Beyond it lay a corn-coloured plain and 
blue hills, and on top of one of the hills 
gleamed the white walls of a monastery. 

“Near here are some famous marble 
quarries,’’ said the Baroness. “They are 
finer even than the ones at Carrara in Italy, 
which are celebrated all over the world. 
There is so much marble around here that 
it is cheaper than wood. See there! even 
the walls of that pig-pen are of marble. 


no Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

Yonder is a peasant’s hut with a marble 
railing around the garden. Even the roads 
are mended with it, and the quarries in 
the hillsides have hardly been touched yet. 
Some day someone will be made very rich 
if they will open up this industry, and it 
will keep many of our people from going 
to America.” 

"‘Why do they go to America.?” asked 
Marushka. “And where is America? It 
cannot be so nice as Magyarland.” 

“Well, little one, it is as nice to Amer- 
icans, but when our Hungarian people go 
there they always come back. Sometimes 
the Slovaks remain, but never the Mag- 
yars. They go there and work and save. 
Then they send for their families, and they 
too work and save, and at last they all come 
home. There is a story told of the last war 
in Hungary. Two Magyar peasants had 
gone to America and worked in the far west. 


Marushka Makes a Journey in 

One day in a lonely cabin on the plains 
they found an old newspaper and read that 
there was war in Hungary. They put 
together all their money, saved and 
scrimped, ate little and worked hard, until 
they got enough to go home. They reached 
Hungary before the fighting was over and 
begged to be sent at once to the front, to 
have a chance to serve their country before 
the war was over.” 

‘‘ But how do people know about Amer- 
ica?” asked Marushka. 

‘‘There are agents of the steamship com- 
panies who go from village to village trying 
to get the people to emigrate,” said the 
Baroness. “They tell them that in Amer- 
ica one finds gold rolling about in the 
streets and that there everyone is free and 
equal. Our people believe it and go there. 
Many of those who go are bad and discon- 
tented or lazy here at home. When they get 


1 12 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

to America and find that gold does not roll 
in the streets and that they must work for 
it if they want it, they are more discon- 
tented than ever, and the people of America 
think that Hungarians are lazy and good 
for nothing. When they come home they 
talk in the villages of the grand things they 
did in America and make the people here 
discontented and unhappy.’’ 

‘‘Why don’t the people ask them, if 
America was so nice, why did they not 
stay there?” asked Marushka, and the 
Baroness smiled. 

“Those of us who have estates to take 
care of wish they would,” she said. ‘‘The 
returned emigrant is one of the problems 
of Hungary.” 

“Why are there so many beggars?” 
asked Marushka. “I never saw one in 
Harom Szolohoz.” 

“That is a prosperous village with a 


Marushka Makes a Journey 113 

kind over-lord/" said the Baroness. ‘‘But 
there are so many beggars in Hungary 
that they have formed themselves into a 
kind of union. In some towns there is a 
beggar chief who is as much a king in his 
way as is His Majesty the Emperor. The 
chief has the right to say just where each 
beggar may beg and on what days they 
may beg in certain places. The beggars 
never go to each other’s begging places, 
and if anyone does, the other beggars tell 
the police about him and he is driven out 
of town. 

“In some provinces the very old and 
sick people are sent to live with the richest 
householders. Of course no one would 
ever refuse to have them, for alms asked 
in the name of Christ can never be refused, 
and as our gracious Emperor has said, 
‘Sorrow and suffering have their privi- 
leges as well as rank.’ ” 


1 14 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

“He must be a very good Emperor/’ 
said Marushka. “It seems to me that you 
are a very wonderful lady and that you 
know everything. It is interesting to know 
all about these things. When I grow up I 
am going to know all about Magyarland.” 

The journey in the train was even more 
exciting for the children than that in the 
motor, and they enjoyed very much hearing 
about the various places through which they 
passed. 

When they reached Buda-Pest, Marushka 
was dumbfounded, for she had never im- 
agined anything so beautiful. The train 
rolled into the huge station, with its im- 
mense steel shed and glass roof, upon 
which the sun beat like moulten fire. The 
children followed the Baroness through the 
gate and into the carriage, which rattled 
away so quickly that it swayed from side 
to side, for in Hungary people are proud 



“ ‘across the river you see buda/ said the baroness 



Marushka Makes a Journey 115 

of their fine horses and always drive as 
fast as they can. 

Marushka caught glimpses of broad, 
well-paved streets and large, handsome 
buildings, as the Baroness pointed out the 
opera house, theatres, churches, museums, 
and the superb houses of parliament built 
upon the banks of the Danube. 

‘‘Across the river you see Buda,” said 
the Baroness. “In old times Buda was 
very old-fashioned, but in the last twenty 
years the royal palace has been built and 
many other costly buildings, and soon it 
will be as handsome as Pest. The improve- 
ments within the last ten years are won- 
derful. The streets are clean and neat, no 
ugly signs are permitted upon the houses, 
no refuse on the streets, and the citizens vie 
with each other in trying to make that side 
of the river as beautiful as this. The Em- 
peror takes great interest in the enterprise.’’ 


ii6 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘‘You speak about the Emperor some- 
times/’ said Marushka. “And other times 
about the King. Who is the King?” 

“The same as the Emperor/’ replied the 
Baroness. “You see, Austria and Hun- 
gary have been united under one govern- 
ment, and the King of Hungary is Emperor 
of Austria. There were many wars fought 
before this arrangement was made, and all 
the different peoples of the empire agreed 
to live peaceably together.” 

“How long has Hungary had a king?” 
asked Marushka. 

“Oh, for years and years,” said the Bar- 
oness. “It was about the twelfth century 
when the Aranybulla^ was made, which 
gave to the nobles the right to rebel if the 
king did not live up to the constitution. 
See! There are the barracks and the sol- 
diers drilling. The country boys who come 


Hungarian Magna Charta. 


Marushka Makes a Journey 117 

up to be trained are sometimes so stupid 
that they don’t know their right foot from 
the left. So the sergeant ties a wisp of hay 
on the right foot and a wisp of straw on the 
left. Instead of saying, right-left, to teach 
them to march, he says szelma-szalma. Isn’t 
it droll?” 

‘‘What is that building by the river?” 
asked Marushka. “The one with the little 
turrets and the tower before which the 
geese are swinging ? ” 

“That, my little goose girl, is the Agri- 
cultural Building, and should you go inside 
you would find specimens of every kind of 
food raised in Hungary. But here we are 
at the hotel where we shall spend the 
night. You must have some supper and 
then hurry to bed, for to-morrow is the fete 
day of St. Stephen, and all must be up 
early to see the procession.” 

Marushka was so sleepy the next day 


ii8 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

that she could only yawn and rub her eyes 
when the maid called her at five o’clock to 
dress for the fete. 

The twentieth of August, the feast of 
St. Stephen, is the greatest fete of the year 
in Hungary. 

Marushka and Banda Bela were very 
much excited over it, for they had often 
heard of the fete but had never supposed 
they would have the good fortune to see it. 

‘‘Come, children,” the Baroness said as 
they hastily ate their breakfast. “We must 
hurry away. Hear the bells and the can- 
non! Every church in the city is ringing 
its chimes. We must be in the Palace 
Square by seven or we will miss some of 
the sights.” 

“I think the High-Born Baron and his 
Gracious Lady are the finest sights we 
shall see,” whispered Banda Bela to Ma- 
rushka, and the Baroness caught the words 


Marushka Makes a Journey 119 

and smiled at him. There was a subtle 
sympathy between these two, the high and 
the lowly, the Magyar noblewoman and 
the Gypsy boy, a sympathy born, perhaps, 
of the love of music which swayed them 
both. 

Marushka felt wonderfully fine as their 
carriage rolled into the Palace Square, 
where the procession in honour of St. 
Stephen was forming. It was a gorgeous 
sight, for all were dressed in their gayest 
attire, and officers, soldiers, prelates, and 
guard of honour from the palace made a 
continual line of conflicting hues. 

While the procession was passing Ma- 
rushka almost held her breath, then, as the 
golden radiance of colour flashing in the 
sunlight streamed past, she clapped her 
hands in glee, and cried: 

‘‘Oh, your Gracious High-Bornness ! 
Isn’t it splendid! How glad I am that 


120 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

St. Stephen is the Magyar saint and that 
I am a Magyar!’’ The child’s eyes were 
shining, her cheeks flushed, her hair a 
golden coronet in the sunshine, and she 
looked like a beautiful little princess. 

At the sound of her voice an officer in 
uniform, who was passing, turned and 
looked into the child’s face, then glanced 
from her to the Baroness, who waved her 
hand in greeting. He doffed his cap and 
then came to the carriage. 

‘‘Good morning. Count. It is long since 
I have seen you in Buda-Pest. Are you not 
marching to-day.?” the Baroness said. 

“No, Madame.” The officer had a kind 
face, but it seemed very sad to Marushka. 
She thought she had seen him before, but 
did not remember where until Banda Bela 
whispered that it was the officer who had 
given them money for Marushka’s top boots 
at the fair. 


Marushka Makes a Journey 121 

“I was on duty at the palace this morn- 
ing, but am returning home at once. My 
wife is not very well,’’ he said. 

‘‘It is long since I have seen her. Will 
she receive me if I drive out to your 
home?” the Baroness asked. 

“She will be glad to see you,” he said, 
“though she sees but few since her ill 
health.” 

‘‘I shall drive out to-day with these 
little folk, to whom I am showing the 
sights,” said the Baroness. 

The count’s eyes fell upon Banda Bela, 
and he gave a quick smile. 

“Why, this is the little genius who 
played the violin so wonderfully well down 
at the village fair,” he said; and Banda 
Bela smiled, well pleased at being remem- 
bered. 

“The little girl is yours?” he asked. 
The Baroness hesitated. 


122 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

she said. ‘‘She is not mine. 
“She is the child of a friend of mine.’’ 
Marushka wondered what good Aszszony 
Semeyer would say to hear herself spoken of 
as a friend of the Baroness, and, amused, 
she looked up at the Count with a beaming 
smile. He started a little and then stared 
at her fixedly, just as the Baroness with a 
hasty adieu bade the coachman drive on. 

“Madame,” he asked quickly, as the 
horses started. “Who is the friend whose 
child this is ? ” The Baroness looked back 
at him over her shoulder. 

“That I cannot tell you now,” she said. 
“This afternoon at your castle I will ask 
you to tell me!^^ 


CHAPTER IX 


‘‘oh, the eyes of my mother!’’ 

“Oh, High-Born Graciousness, what is 
that beautiful street we are driving into?” 
asked Marushka, as they drove out in the 
afternoon, and the coachman turned the 
horses into a magnificent avenue. 

“This is Andrassy-ut, the famous boule- 
vard, which leads to the park,” replied the 
Baroness. “We are driving toward Os 
Budavara, the Park of Buda-Pest, and it 
is one of the most beautiful sights in the 
world.” 

As she spoke they entered the park, and 
the children gazed in wonder at its beauty. 
Swans floated on the miniature lakes; in 
the feathery green woods bloomed exquisite 
Persian lilacs, children played on the green 


124 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

grass beneath the willows or ran to and 
fro over the rustic bridges. On the Corso 
the fashionables drove up and down in 
the smartest of costumes, their turnouts as 
well appointed as any in Paris or London. 
The men were many of them in uniform, 
the women, some of them with slanting 
dark eyes almost like Japanese, were grace- 
ful and elegant. 

‘‘The skating fetes held in the park in 
winter are the most beautiful things you 
can imagine,” said the Baroness. “The 
whole country is white with snow. Frost 
is in the air, the blood tingles with the 
cold. Ice kiosks are erected everywhere, 
and coloured lights are hung up until 
the whole place seems like fairyland, and 
the skaters, dressed from top to toe in 
furs, look like fairy people skimming over 
the ice.” 

“It must be beautiful,” said Marushka. 


‘'Oh, the Eyes of My Mother!’' 125 

‘‘But what is that man playing?” 

“The taragato, the old-fashioned Magyar 
clarinet,” was the answer, and the old 
instrument seemed to tell tales of warlike 
days, its deep tones rolling out like the 
wind of the forest. A boy near by played 
an impudent little tilinka (flageolet), and 
Banda Bela said: 

“That never sounded like real music to 
me; only the violin sings. It is like the 
wind in the trees, the rustle of the grass on 
the moor, the dash of the waves on the 
shore, the voice of the mother to her 
child.” 

“Banda Bela, you are poet as well as 
musician,” said the Baroness. “You shall 
never go back to Harom Szolohoz to live. 
You shall stay with me. I will sing to 
your music, and you shall study music 
till you are the greatest violin player in 
all Hungary.” 


126 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

‘‘When a Gypsy child comes into the 
world they say his mother lays him on 
the ground and at one side places a 
purse and at the other a violin/’ said 
Banda Bela. “To one side or other the 
baby will turn his head. If he turns to 
the purse he will be a thief, if he turns 
to the violin he will earn his living by 
music. My mother said she would give 
me no chance to choose ill, but an old 
woman near by laid forth both the purse 
and the violin and I turned my head to 
the violin and reached for it with my 
baby hand. When they placed the bow 
in my hand I grasped it so tight they 
could scarce take it from me.” 

“Banda Bela,” said Marushka, and her 
tone was pettish. “You like your violin 
better than you do me!” The boy laughed. 

“My violin has earned you many a 
supper. Little One; do not dislike it!” 


“Oh, the Eyes of My Mother!’’ 127 

‘‘Oh, Your Graciousness, what are those 
strange things?’’ cried Marushka. “They 
are not automobiles, are they?” 

“No, my child, they are the new steam 
thrashing machines which the government 
has just bought, and is teaching the peas- 
ants to use instead of the old-fashioned ways 
of thrashing. Now we are getting into 
the country. See how beautifully the road 
winds along the Danube! Is it not a won- 
derful river ? There is a famous waltz 
called the ‘Beautiful Blue Danube’ and 
the river is certainly as blue as the sky. 
See that queer little cemetery among the 
hills. I have often wondered why some of 
the gravestones in the village cemeteries 
had three feathers and coloured ribbons 
on them.” 

“If you please. Your Graciousness,” said 
Banda Bela, “I can tell you. That is 
for the grave of a girl who has died after 


128 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

she was of an age to be married, yet for 
whom no one had offered the buying money. 
Aszszony Semeyer told me that.’^ 

‘‘Aszszony Semeyer told me that every 
peasant kept a wooden shovel hung upon 
the wall of his house with which to throw 
in the last shovelful of earth upon his 
loved ones,” said Marushka with a shud- 
der. ‘‘Ugh! I didn’t like that.” 

‘‘Very few people like to think about 
death,” said the Baroness. “See that thicket 
of prickly pears beside the road ? Once 
when I was a little girl and very, very 
naughty, I ran away from my nurse and to 
hide from her I jumped over the wall and 
landed in just such a thicket as that. I 
think the pears must be naughty, too, for 
they liked that little girl and would not 
let her go. The thorns pricked her legs 
and tore her frock and scratched her hands 
when she tried to get her skirts loose, until 


‘'Oh, the Eyes of My Mother!” 129 

she cried with pain and called ‘ Kerem pjoro 
ide^ ^ to her nurse/’ 

“I did not think the Gracious Baroness 
was ever naughty,” said Marushka. 

‘‘The Gracious Baroness was quite like 
other little girls, my dear,” she said, smil- 
ing. ‘^Ah, I have a little twinge of tooth- 
ache!” she exclaimed. 

“That is too bad.” Marushka was all 
sympathy. “Aszszony Semeyer says that 
if you will always cut your finger nails on 
Friday you will never have toothache.” 

“Is that so? Then I shall certainly try 
it,” said the Baroness soberly. “Do you 
see the gleam of white houses between the 
trees ? Those are the beautiful villas and 
castles of the Svabhegy, the hill overlook- 
ing the Danube, and here live many of 
my very good friends. 

“I am going to visit one of them for a 


' “ Come to me.” 


130 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

little while and you must be good, quiet 
children and sit in the carriage while I go 
in to make my call. Then, perhaps, I 
will take you in for a few moments to 
see the house, for it is a very beautiful 
one. See! here we are at the gate,’’ as 
the carriage turned into a beautifully 
ornamented gateway, above which was 
carved the legend: If you love God and 
your Country, enter; with malice in your 
heart, go your way. 

The driveway wound through beautiful 
grounds, and through the trees were seen 
glimpses of the Danube. The house itself 
was white and stood at the crest of the hill 
overlooking the river. 

“This place belongs to the Count An- 
drassy,” said the Baroness. “He has also 
another place in the Afold and is very 
wealthy. When my grandfather went to 
visit his grandfather in the old days, they 


‘'Oh, the Eyes of My Mother!” 131 

once took the wheels from his carriage and 
tied them to the tops of the tallest poplar 
trees on the estate to prevent his leaving. 
Another time they greased the shafts with 
wolf fat, so that the horses would not allow 
themselves to be harnessed up, for they are 
so afraid of the wolf smell. Still another 
time they hid his trunks in the attic so 
that it was three months before my grand- 
father finally got away. 

‘‘That was old-fashioned hospitality. 
Here we are at the door. Sit quietly here 
and I will return,” and the Baroness sprang 
down. There was a swish of her silken 
skirts and the front door closed behind 
her. 

The children chattered gaily to each other 
of all they had seen and heard since they 
had left Harom Szolohoz, and Marushka 
said: 

It seems so long since we have left the 


132 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

village, Banda Bela; somehow it seems as 
if we would never go back/’ 

‘H think you never will/’ Banda Bela 
spoke a little sadly. ‘‘Were you happy 
there, Little One ?” 

“Oh, yes,” she said brightly. “I was 
happy with you and Aszszony Semeyer. 
Only, when I saw other children with their 
mothers, there was the ache right here — ” 
she laid her hand on her heart. 

“I know,” said Banda Bela. “I have 
that always. Only when I play my violin 
do I forget.” 

“But I cannot play the violin, nor can 
I do anything, only embroider that horrible 
Himmelhelty^ and Marushka pouted, while 
Banda Bela laughed at her. 

“Think how proud you will be some day 
to show that Himmelbelt to your husband,” 
he said, but just then the Baroness and the 
Count came out of the house together. 


“Oh, the Eyes of My Mother!” 133 

‘‘What do you think?’’ the Baroness 
asked the Count. 

“I think you are right, but Maria 
shall decide,” he answered. “We will 
say nothing to her and her heart will 
speak.” 

“Come in, children,” said the Baroness, 
who looked strangely excited. Her eyes 
shone and her cheeks were flushed, while 
the Count’s face was pale as death and he 
looked strangely at Marushka. 

“Banda Bela,” said the Baroness, “the 
Countess is not very well. She loves music 
as you and I do, and I want you to come 
in and play for her. She is very sad. Once 
she lost her dear little daughter, and you 
may play some gentle little songs for her. 
It may give her pleasure. It is a beautiful 
thing, Banda Bela, to give pleasure to those 
who are sad.” 

The Baroness chattered on as they en- 


134 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

tered the house. Marushka looked up at 
the Count’s face. Sad as it was she felt 
drawn toward him. She saw him watch- 
ing her closely and smiled up at him with 
the pretty, frank smile which always lighted 
up her face so charmingly. 

“High-Born Count,” she said shyly, “I 
have to thank you for the first present I 
ever received in all my life.” 

“What was that. Little One ?” he asked. 

“The top boots which Banda Bela 
bought for me at the fair at Harom 
Szolohoz. They were bought with the 
florin you gave to Banda Bela for his 
playing. They were so nice!” She dim- 
pled prettily. 

“I am glad they gave you pleasure. 
Come, we will go in and hear Banda Bela 
play,” said the Count, holding out his 
hand. Marushka slipped her hand into 
his and he led her into the house, entering 


''Oh, the Eyes of My Mother!” 135 

by the large hall, on the walls of which hung 
deer horns and wolf heads, while a huge 
stuffed wolf stood at one end, holding a 
lamp in his paws. The Count was a great 
sportsman and had shot many of these 
animals himself in the forests of the Tran- 
sylvania. 

Banda Bela tuned his violin and then 
began to play. It seemed to Marushka 
as if she had never before heard him play 
so beautifully. Many things he played, 
all soft and dreamy, with a gentle, haunting 
sadness through them, until at last he 
struck into a peculiar melody, a sort of 
double harmony of joy and sorrow, which 
he had never played before. 

"What is that, Banda Bela r' demanded 
the Baroness. "Who wrote it, what are 
the words 

"If you please. Your Graciousness” — 
the boy flushed, "it is but a Gypsy song 


136 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

of sorrow. The words are but in my own 
heart.’’ 

“Strange boy,” she thought, but at that 
moment the door opened and a lady hastily 
entered the room. She was tall and very 
beautiful, with great masses of corn-coloured 
hair and deep blue eyes, but her face had a 
look of terrible sadness. 

“Arpad!” she exclaimed. “What is this 
music ? It makes me weep for my lost one 
and I am nearly blind with weeping now.” 
Her eyes, seeking her husband’s, fell upon 
Marushka, who during the music had been 
leaning against the Count, his arm around 
her. The Countess’ eyes travelled up and 
down the little figure, then sought her hus- 
band’s face with a sort of eager, frightened 
questioning. 

“Arpad!” she cried. “Arpad! Who is 
this child ?” 

“Maria, my dearest! I have brought her 


''Oh, the Eyes of My Mother!” 137 

here that you may tell me who she is,” he 
said, trying to speak calmly. 

She drew the little girl toward her and 
Marushka went willingly and stood looking 
into the sweet face of the Countess. 

‘‘Such a likeness,” whispered the Baron- 
ess. “They are as like as two sisters.” 

Then, all in a moment, the Countess 
gathered Marushka into her arms and cov- 
ered the child’s face with kisses. “You are 
mine,” she cried, tears streaming down her 
face. “Mine! Arpad! I know it is our 
little daughter come back t.o us after all 
these years. My heart tells me it is she!” 

Marushka looked frightened for a mo- 
ment, then she clung around her mother’s 
neck, and the Baroness quietly drew Banda 
Bela from the room. From the hall the 
sound of the Gypsy boy’s violin came as he 
played, with all his soul in his touch, the 
song of his father: 


138 Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

“ The hills are so blue, 

The sun so warm, 

The wind of the moor so soft and so kind! 
Oh, the eyes of my mother. 

The warmth of her breast. 

The breath of her kiss on my cheek, alas!” 


THE END 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


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TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY 
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BIG BROTHER 


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A~8 


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THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND: Or, The Adven- 
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James Otis will not let this book escape them, for it fully 
equals its many predecessors in excitement and sustained 
interest.” — Chicago Evening Post, 

LITTLE WHITE INDIANS. By Fannie E. Os- 
trander. 

Cloth decorative, illustrated . ; . . $1.25 

‘‘ A bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly 
to the ‘ make-believe ’ instinct in children, and will 
give them a healthy, active interest in ‘the simple life.’” 

MARCHING WITH MORGAN. How Donald 
Lovell Became a Soldier op the Revolution. 
By John L. Veasy. 

Cloth decorative, illustrated . . . . ^ $1.50 

This is a splendid boy’s story of the expedition of 
Montgomery and Arnold against Quebec. 

A— 10 



MOV 8 


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NOV 9 t909 



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